“I understand, mademoiselle, I understand all you feel. It is most natural. You think that we are lukewarm—that we lack fire and energy—but trust me, it is not so.”
John stuck his head in at this juncture, and invited us both to come up to Mrs. Inglethorp’s room, as he and Mr. Wells had finished looking through the desk in the boudoir.
As we went up the stairs, John looked back to the dining-room door, and lowered his voice confidentially:
“Look here, what’s going to happen when these two meet?”
I shook my head helplessly.
“I’ve told Mary to keep them apart if she can.”
“Will she be able to do so?”
“The Lord only knows. There’s one thing, Inglethorp himself won’t be too keen on meeting her.”
“You’ve got the keys still, haven’t you, Poirot?” I asked, as we reached the door of the locked room.
Taking the keys from Poirot, John unlocked it, and we all passed in. The lawyer went straight to the desk, and John followed him.