Poirot repeated my words, but whereas I had laid a slight stress on the fourth

word, he put it on the second.

 

“She _seemed_ a nice girl—yes.”

 

Then, after a minute’s silence, he took something from his pocket and handed it

to me.

 

“See, my friend, I will show you something. Look there.”

 

The paper he had handed me was that compiled by the inspector and given by him

to Poirot that morning. Following the pointing finger, I saw a small cross

marked in pencil opposite the name Ursula Bourne.

 

“You may not have noticed it at the time, my good friend, but there was one

person on this list whose alibi had no kind of confirmation. Ursula Bourne.”

 

“You don’t think——”

 

“Dr. Sheppard, I dare to think anything. Ursula Bourne may have killed Mr.

Ackroyd, but I confess I can see no motive for her doing so. Can you?”

 

He looked at me very hard—so hard that I felt uncomfortable.