begonias."

John, I think, would have pressed his questions further, but at
that moment the loud purr of a motor was audible, and we all
turned to the window as it swept past.

"Evie!" cried John. "Excuse me, Wells." He went hurriedly out
into the hall.

Poirot looked inquiringly at me.

"Miss Howard," I explained.

"Ah, I am glad she has come. There is a woman with a head and a
heart too, Hastings. Though the good God gave her no beauty!"

I followed John's example, and went out into the hall, where Miss
Howard was endeavouring to extricate herself from the voluminous
mass of veils that enveloped her head. As her eyes fell on me, a
sudden pang of guilt shot through me. This was the woman who had
warned me so earnestly, and to whose warning I had, alas, paid no
heed! How soon, and how contemptuously, I had dismissed it from
my mind. Now that she had been proved justified in so tragic a
manner, I felt ashamed. She had known Alfred Inglethorp only too
well. I wondered whether, if she had remained at Styles, the
tragedy would have taken place, or would the man have feared her
watchful eyes?

I was relieved when she shook me by the hand, with her well
remembered painful grip. The eyes that met mine were sad, but