"Abbie says you will help me -" She looked at him gravely and inquiringly.

For a moment he stood quite still, scrutinizing her closely. There was nothing ill-bred in hismanner of doing it. It was more the kind but searching look that a famous consultant gives a newpatient.

"Are you sure, madame," he said at last, "that I can help you?"A little flush rose to her cheeks.

"I don't know what you mean."

"What is it, madame, that you want me to do?""Oh," she seemed surprised. "I thought - you knew who I was?""I know who you are. Your husband was killed - stabbed, and a Major Rich has been arrested andcharged with his murder."The flush heightened.

"Major Rich did not kill my husband."

Quick as a flash Poirot said:

"Why not?"

She stared, puzzled. "I - I beg your pardon?""I have confused you - because I have not asked the question that everybody asks - the police - thelawyers 'Why should Major Rich kill Arnold Clayton?' But I ask the opposite. I ask you, madame,why you are sure that Major Rich did not kill him?""Because" - she paused a moment - "because I know Major Rich so well.""You know Major Rich so well," repeated Poirot tonelessly. He paused and then said sharply:

"How well?"

Whether she understood his meaning, he could not guess. He thought to himself. 'Here is either awoman of great simplicity or of great subtlety...' Many people, he thought, must have wonderedthat about Margharita Clayton...

"How well?" She was looking at him doubtfully. "Five years - no, nearly six.""That was not precisely what I meant. You must understand, madame, that I shall have to ask youthe impertinent questions. Perhaps you will speak the truth, perhaps you will lie. It is verynecessary for a woman to lie sometimes. Women must defend themselves, and the lie, it can be agood weapon. But there are three people, madame, to whom a woman should speak the truth. Toher Father confessor, to her hairdresser, and to her private detective - if she trusts him. Do youtrust me, madame?"Margharita Clayton drew a deep breath.

"Yes," she said. "I do." And added: "I must.""Very well, then. What is it you want me to do - find out who killed your husband?""I suppose so - yes.""But it is not essential? You want me, then, to clear Major Rich from suspicion?"She nodded quickly - gratefully.

"That - and that only?"

It was, he saw, an unnecessary question. Margharita Clayton was a woman who saw only onething at a time.

"And now," he said, "for the impertinence. You and Major Rich, you are lovers, yes?""Do you mean, were we having an affair together? No.""But he was in love with you?""Yes.""And you - were in love with him?"

"I think so."

"You do not seem quite sure?"

"I am sure - now."

"Ah! You did not, then, love your husband?"

"No."

"You reply with an admirable simplicity. Most women would wish to explain at great length justexactly what their feelings were. How long had you been married?""Eleven years.""Can you tell me a little about your husband - what kind of a man he was?"She frowned. "It's difficult. I don't really know what kind of a man Arnold was. He was very quiet- very reserved. One didn't know what he was thinking. He was clever, of course - everyone saidhe was brilliant - in his work, I mean. He didn't - how can I put it - he never explained himself atall.""Was he in love with you?""Oh, yes. He must have been. Or he wouldn't have minded so much…" she came to a sudden stop.

"About other men? That is what you were going to say? He was jealous?"Again she said:

"He must have been." And then, as though she felt that the phrase needed explanation, she said,"Sometimes, for days, he wouldn't speak -"Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

"This violence - that has come into your life. Is it the first that you have known?""Violence?" She frowned, then flushed. "I - you mean - that poor boy who shot himself?""Yes," said Poirot. "I expect that is what I mean -""I'd no idea he felt like that... I was sorry for him - he seemed so shy - so lonely. He must havebeen very neurotic, I think. And there were two Italians and a duel… it was ridiculous! Anyway,nobody was killed, thank goodness. And honestly, I didn't care about either of them! I never evenpretended to care.""No. You were just - there! And where you are things happen! I have seen that before in my life. Itis because you do not care that men are driven mad. But for Major Rich you do care. So we mustdo what we can -"He was silent for a moment or two.

She sat there gravely, watching him.

"We turn from personalities, which are the really important things, to plain facts. I know only whathas been in the papers. On the facts as given there, only two persons had the opportunity of killingyour husband, only two persons could have killed him - Major Rich and Major Rich'smanservant."She said, stubbornly:

"I know Charles didn't kill him."

"So, then, it must have been the valet. You agree?"She said doubtfully:

"I see what you mean -"

"But you are dubious about it?"

"It just seems – fantastic!"

"Yet the possibility is there. Your husband undoubtedly came to the flat, since his body was foundthere. If the valet's story is true, Major Rich killed him. But if the valet's story is false? Then thevalet killed him and hid the body in the chest before his master returned. An excellent way ofdisposing of the body from his point of view. He has only got to 'notice the bloodstain' the nextmorning and 'discover' it. Suspicion will immediately fall on Rich.""But why should he want to kill Arnold?""Ah why? The motive cannot be an obvious one - or the police would have investigated it. It ispossible that your husband knew something to the valet's discredit, and was about to acquaintMajor Rich with the facts. Did your husband ever say anything to you about this man Burgess?"She shook her head.

"Do you think he would have done so - if that had indeed been the case?"She frowned.

"It's difficult to say. Possibly not. Arnold never talked much about people. I told you he wasreserved. He wasn't - he was never - a chatty man.""He was a man who kept his own counsel. Yes, now what is your opinion of Burgess?""He's not the kind of man you notice very much. A fairly good servant. Adequate, but notpolished.""What age?""About thirty-seven or eight, I should think. He'd been an orderly in the army during the war, buthe wasn't a regular soldier.""How long had he been with Major Rich?""Not very long. About a year and a half, I think.""You never noticed anything odd about his manner towards your husband?""We weren't there so very often. No, I noticed nothing at all.""Tell me now about the events of that evening. What time were you invited?""Eight-fifteen for half past.""And just what kind of a party was it to be?""Well, there would be drinks, and a kind of buffet supper - usually a very good one. Foie gras andhot toast. Smoked salmon. Sometimes there was a hot rice dish - Charles had a special recipe he'dgot in the Near East - but that was more for winter. Then we used to have music - Charles had gota very good stereophonic gramophone. Both my husband and Jock McLaren were very fond ofclassical records. And we had dance music - the Spences were very keen dancers. It was that sortof thing - a quiet informal evening. Charles was a very good host.""And this particular evening - it was like other evenings there? You noticed nothing unusual -nothing out of place?""Out of place?" she frowned for a moment. "When you said that I - no, it's gone. There wassomething -"She shook her head again. "No. To answer your question, there was nothing unusual at all aboutthat evening. We enjoyed ourselves. Everybody seemed relaxed and happy." She shivered. "Andto think that all the time -"Poirot held up a quick hand.