eves, at least, I ranked equally in importance with Poirot. The girl was waiting for me. She gave an exclamation of delight as she saw the key in my hand.
“You’ve got it then?”
“Of course,” I said coolly. “All the same, you know, what I’m doing is highly irregular.”
“You’ve been a perfect duck, and I shan’t forget it. Come along. They can’t see us from the house, can they?”
“Wait a minute.” I arrested her eager advance. “I won’t stop you if you really wish to go in. But do you? You’ve seen the grave, and the grounds, and you’ve heard all the details of the affair. Isn’t that enough for you? This is going to be gruesome, you know, and—unpleasant.”
She looked at me for a moment with an expression that I could not quite fathom. Then she laughed.
“Me for the horrors,” she said. “Come along.”
In silence we arrived at the door of the shed. I opened it and we passed in. I walked over to the body, and gently pulled down the sheet as M. Bex had done the preceding afternoon. A little gasping sound escaped from the girl’s lips, and I turned and looked at her. There was horror on her face now, and those debonair high spirits of hers were quenched utterly. She had not chosen to listen to my advice, and she was punished now for her disregard of it. I felt singularly merciless toward her. She should go through with it now. I turned the corpse gently over.
“You see,” I said, “he was stabbed in the back.”
Her voice was almost soundless.
“With what?”
I nodded toward the glass jar.
“That dagger.”
Suddenly the girl reeled, and then sank down in a heap. I sprang to her assistance.
“You are faint. Come out of here. It has been too much for you.”
“Water,” she murmured. “Quick. Water.”
I left her and rushed into the house. Fortunately none of the servants were about, and I was able to secure a glass of
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