Célestine uttered a piercing shriek, and clung to Poirot’s arm. The latter bent and whispered something in the girl’s ear. She looked up at him doubtfully.
“Si, si, mon enfant—I assure you it is better not to resist.” Then he turned to the inspector. “You permit, monsieur? A little experiment—purely for my own satisfaction.”
“Depends on what it is,” replied the police officer non-committally.
Poirot addressed Célestine once more.
“You have told us that you went into your room to fetch a reel of cotton. Whereabouts was it?”
“On the top of the chest of drawers, monsieur.”
“And the scissors?”
“They also.”
“Would it be troubling you too much, mademoiselle, to ask you to repeat those two actions? You were sitting here with your work, you say?”
Célestine sat down, and then, at a sign from Poirot, rose, passed into the adjoining room, took up an object from the chest of drawers, and returned.