Again he fell silent, and Katherine did not interrupt his train of thought. “Mademoiselle,” he said at last, “I am now on delicate ground, yet I will say this to you. There is, I think, someone who loves Monsieur Kettering⁠—correct me if I am wrong⁠—and for her sake⁠—well⁠—for her sake I hope that I am right and the police are wrong. You know who that someone is?”

There was a pause, then Katherine said:

“Yes⁠—I think I know.”

Poirot leant across the table towards her.

“I am not satisfied, Mademoiselle; no, I am not satisfied. The facts, the main facts, led straight to Monsieur Kettering. But there is one thing that has been left out of account.”

“And what is that?”