“I ought to go back to Fernly,” said Ursula uncertainly.

 

But Caroline silenced her protests with a firm hand.

 

“Nonsense. You’re in my hands for the time being. You’ll stay here for the

present, anyway—eh, M. Poirot?”

 

“It will be the best plan,” agreed the little Belgian. “This evening I shall

want mademoiselle—I beg her pardon, madame—to attend my little reunion. Nine

o’clock at my house. It is most necessary that she should be there.”

 

Caroline nodded, and went with Ursula out of the room. The door shut behind

them. Poirot dropped down into a chair again.

 

“So far, so good,” he said. “Things are straightening themselves out.”

 

“They’re getting to look blacker and blacker against Ralph Paton,” I observed

gloomily.

 

Poirot nodded.

 

“Yes, that is so. But it was to be expected, was it not?”

 

I looked at him, slightly puzzled by the remark. He was leaning back in the