Poirot nodded.

“But she talked to you, did she not?” he said gently. “You formed an impression⁠—is it not so?”

“Yes,” said Katherine thoughtfully. “I suppose I did.”

“And that impression was⁠—”

“Yes, Mademoiselle”⁠—the Commissary jerked himself forward⁠—“let us by all means have your impressions.”

Katherine sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word “Murder” ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman.