She’s a woman through and through, and I guess she can’t bear to think of

another woman outshining her in the jewel line.”

 

“What nonsense, Gregory!” said Mary Marvell sharply. But she flushed angrily.

 

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

 

“Madame, I have advised. I can do no more. _C’est fini_.”

 

He bowed them both to the door.

 

“Ah! _la la_,” he observed, returning. “_Histoire de femmes!_ The good husband,

he hit the nail on the head—_tout de même_, he was not tactful! Assuredly not.”

 

I imparted to him my vague remembrances, and he nodded vigorously.

 

“So I thought. All the same, there is something curious underneath all this.

With your permission, _mon ami_, I will take the air.

 

Await my return, I beg of you. I shall not be long.”

 

I was half asleep in my chair when the landlady tapped on the door, and put her

head in.

 

“It’s another lady to see Mr. Poirot, sir. I’ve told her he was out, but she