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“I have not said that either.”
Jane looked at him with irritation. She exclaimed:
“Well, she’s got to be one or the other, hasn’t she?”
“Actually, it’s not quite so simple.”
“I believe you just like making things difficult!”
“It has been said of me,” admitted Hercule Poirot.
Jane shivered. She said:
“Isn’t it funny? It’s a lovely warm day—and yet I suddenly feel cold….”
“Perhaps you had better walk on, Mademoiselle.”
Jane rose to her feet. She stood a minute irresolute. She said abruptly:
“Howard wants me to marry him. At once. Without letting anyone know. He says—he says it’s the only way I’ll ever do it—that I’m weak—” She broke off, then with one hand she gripped Poirot’s arm with surprising strength. “What shall I do about it, M. Poirot?”
“Why ask me to advise you? There are those who are nearer!”
“Mother? She’d scream the house down at the bare idea! Uncle Alistair? He’d be cautious and prosy. Plenty of time, my dear. Got to make quite sure, you know. Bit of an odd fish—this young man of yours. No sense in rushing things—”
“Your friends?” suggested Poirot.
“I haven’t got any friends. Only a silly crowd I drink and dance and talk inane catchwords with! Howard’s the only real person I’ve ever come up against.”
“Still—why ask me, Miss Olivera?”
Jane said:
“Because you’ve got a queer look on your face—as though you were sorry about something—as though you knew something that—that—was—coming. …”
She stopped.
“Well?” she demanded. “What do you say?”
Hercule Poirot slowly shook his head.
IV
When Poirot reached home, George said:
“Chief Inspector Japp is here, sir.”
Japp grinned in a rueful way as Poirot came into the room.
“Here I am, old boy. Come round to say: ‘Aren’t you a marvel? How do you do it? What makes you think of these things?’”
“All this meaning—? But pardon, you will have some refreshment? A sirop? Or perhaps the whisky?”
“The whisky is good enough for me.”
A few minutes later he raised his glass, observing:
“Here’s to Hercule Poirot who is always right!”
