“Think I’d hold that against her? Roger was always a queer chap about money. She got in a mess and didn’t dare tell him. Poor kid. Poor lonely kid.”
Poirot looked thoughtfully at the side door.
“Mademoiselle Flora went into the garden, I think,” he murmured.
“I’ve been every kind of a fool,” said Blunt abruptly. “Rum conversation we’ve been having. Like one of those Danish plays. But you’re a sound fellow, M. Poirot. Thank you.”
He took Poirot’s hand and gave it a grip which caused the other to wince in anguish. Then he strode to the side door and passed out into the garden.
“Not every kind of a fool,” murmured Poirot, tenderly nursing the injured member. “Only one kind—the fool in love.”
CHAPTER XX
MISS RUSSELL
Inspector Raglan had received a bad jolt. He was not deceived by Blunt’s valiant lie any more than we had been. Our way back to the village was punctuated by his complaints.
“This alters everything, this does. I don’t know whether you’ve realized it, Monsieur Poirot?”