“Until about ten o’clock.”

 

“Is there any one who can prove that?”

 

“Prove? That I was in my room, you mean? Oh! no. But surely—oh! I see, they

might think—they might think——”

 

I saw the dawning horror in her eyes.

 

Poirot finished the sentence for her.

 

“That it was _you_ who entered by the window and stabbed Mr. Ackroyd as he sat

in his chair? Yes, they might think just that.”

 

“Nobody but a fool would think any such thing,” said Caroline indignantly.

 

She patted Ursula on the shoulder.

 

The girl had her face hidden in her hands.

 

“Horrible,” she was murmuring. “Horrible.”

 

Caroline gave her a friendly shake.

 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “M. Poirot doesn’t think that really.