“Thank you, Major Blunt,” she said.

 

“Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, “will you let an old man congratulate you on your

courage and your loyalty? And will you not misunderstand me if I ask you—ask you

most solemnly—to postpone the announcement you speak of for at least two days

more?”

 

Flora hesitated.

 

“I ask it in Ralph Paton’s interests as much as in yours, mademoiselle.

 

You frown. You do not see how that can be. But I assure you that it is so. _Pas

de blagues_. You put the case into my hands—you must not hamper me now.”

 

Flora paused a few minutes before replying.

 

“I do not like it,” she said at last, “but I will do what you say.”

 

She sat down again at the table.

 

“And now, messieurs et mesdames,” said Poirot rapidly, “I will continue with

what I was about to say. Understand this, I mean to arrive at the truth. The

truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker

after it. I am much aged, my powers may not be what they were.” Here he clearly