IV
Lydia said:
“Good morning, M. Poirot. Tressilian told me I should find you out here with Harry¹; but I am
glad to find you alone. My husband has been speaking about you. I know he is very anxious to talk
to you.”
“Ah! Yes? Shall I go and see him now?”
“Not just yet. He got hardly any sleep last night. In the end I gave him a strong sleeping
draught². He is still asleep, and I don’t want to disturb him.”
“I quite understand. That was very wise. I could see last night that the shock had been very
great.”
She said seriously:
“You see, M. Poirot, he really cared—much more than the others.”
“I understand.”
She asked:
“Have you—has the superintendent—any idea of who can have done this awful thing?”
Poirot said deliberately³:
“We have certain ideas, madame, as to who did not do it.”
Lydia said, almost impatiently:
“It’s like a nightmare—so fantastic—I can’t believe it’s real!”
She added:
“What about Horbury? Was he really at the cinema, as he said?”
“Yes, madame, his story has been checked. He was speaking the truth.”
Lydia stopped and plucked at a bit of yew⁴. Her face went a little paler. She said:
“But that’s awful! It only leaves—the family!”
“Exactly.”
“M. Poirot, I can’t believe it!”
“Madame, you can and you do believe it!”
She seemed about to protest. Then suddenly she smiled ruefully.
She said:
“What a hypocrite one is!”
He nodded.
“If you were to be frank with me, madame,” he said, “you would admit that to you it seems
quite natural that one of his family should murder your father-in-law.”
Lydia said sharply:
“That’s really a fantastic thing to say, M. Poirot!”
“Yes, it is. But your father-in-law was a fantastic person!”
Lydia said:
“Poor old man. I can feel sorry for him now. When he was alive, he just annoyed me
unspeakably!”
Poirot said:
“So I should imagine!”
He

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