“There is only one thing about which I wonder,” said Poirot⁠—“I wonder, Mademoiselle, if you found what you were looking for or whether⁠—”

“Whether what?”

“Or whether someone else had been before you.”

“I will answer no more questions,” screamed the dancer. She tore herself away from Poirot’s restraining hand, and flinging herself down on the floor in a frenzy, she screamed and sobbed. A frightened maid came rushing in.

Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and quietly left the room.

But he seemed satisfied.