“And Dereek will be arrested?”

“At once, Mademoiselle.”

Mirelle laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her.

“He should have thought of this before he insulted me,” she cried.

“There is one little matter”⁠—Poirot coughed apologetically⁠—“just a matter of detail.”

“Yes?”

“What makes you think that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons?”

Mirelle stared.

“But she was dead.”