"Of course she was in love with Vould. That's why I asked you if you'd looked at her at all during dinner — when Vould was talking. If you had, even you might have seen it. But you're so full of conventions. You think that any woman ought to adore a great fat-headed blustering athlete — because a number of equally fat-headed men adore him. You think she oughtn't to think much of a pale poet who wears glasses, because the fat-headed athletes don't understand him, as if the ability to hit a ball with a bat were the only criterion of value in the world. But I tried to tell you that she was intelligent. Of course she was in love with Vould, and Vould with her. They were made for each other. I'll also bet you that Vould didn't want an interview with Yearleigh to make more protests about that bill, but to tell him that he was going to run away with his wife."
Teal said helplessly: "You mean — when Yearleigh objected — Vould had made up his mind to kill him. Lady Yearleigh knew, and that's what she meant by—"
"She didn't mean that at all," said the Saint. "Vould believed in peace. You heard him at dinner. Have you forgotten that remark of his? He pointed out that men had learned not to kill their neighbours so that they could steal their lawn mowers. Why should he believe that they ought to kill their neighbours so that they could steal their wives?"
"You can't always believe what a man says—"
"You can believe him when he's sincere."
"Sincere enough," Teal mentioned sceptically, "to try to kill his host."
Simon was quiet for a moment, kicking the toe of his shoe into the gravel.
"Did you notice that Vould was shot in the back?" he said.
"You heard Yearleigh's explanation."
"You can't always believe what a man says — can you?"