“Yes, yes; you must be a wizard to have guessed. But it can’t be so⁠—it’s too monstrous, too impossible. It must be Alfred Inglethorp.”

Poirot shook his head gravely.

“Don’t ask me about it,” continued Miss Howard, “because I shan’t tell you. I won’t admit it, even to myself. I must be mad to think of such a thing.”

Poirot nodded, as if satisfied.

“I will ask you nothing. It is enough for me that it is as I thought. And I⁠—I, too, have an instinct. We are working together towards a common end.”

“Don’t ask me to help you, because I won’t. I wouldn’t lift a finger to⁠—to⁠—” She faltered.

“You will help me in spite of yourself. I ask you nothing⁠—but you will be my ally. You will not be able to help yourself. You will do the only thing that I want of you.”