“Yes, mademoiselle,” said Poirot gently. “It is quite true. But how did you learn it?”
“Françoise told our Amélie,” explained Marthe, with a blush.
Poirot made a grimace.
“The secrecy, it is impossible in an affair of this kind! Not that it matters. Well, mademoiselle, what is it you want to know?”
The girl hesitated. She seemed longing, yet fearing, to speak. At last, almost in a whisper, she asked:
“Is—any one suspected?”
Poirot eyed her keenly.
Then he replied evasively:
“Suspicion is in the air at present, mademoiselle.”
“Yes, I know—but—any one in particular?”