"And I am pleased with you. You have a good memory, and you have
given me the facts faithfully. Of the order in which you present
them, I say nothing--truly, it is deplorable! But I make
allowances--you are upset. To that I attribute the circumstance
that you have omitted one fact of paramount importance."

"What is that?" I asked.

"You have not told me if Mrs. Inglethorp ate well last night."

I stared at him. Surely the war had affected the little man's
brain. He was carefully engaged in brushing his coat before
putting it on, and seemed wholly engrossed in the task.

"I don't remember," I said. "And, anyway, I don't see----"

"You do not see? But it is of the first importance."

"I can't see why," I said, rather nettled. "As far as I can
remember, she didn't eat much. She was obviously upset, and it
had taken her appetite away. That was only natural."

"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "it was only natural."

He opened a drawer, and took out a small despatch-case, then
turned to me.

"Now I am ready. We will proceed to the chateau, and study
matters on the spot. Excuse me, mon ami, you dressed in haste,