VII
Poirot arrived home to be informed by George that a lady was waiting to see him.
“She is—ahem—a little nervous, sir,” said George.
Since the lady had given no name Poirot was at liberty to guess. He guessed wrong, for the
young woman who rose agitatedly¹ from the sofa as he entered was the late Mr. Morley’s secretary,
Miss Gladys Nevill.
“Oh, dear, M. Poirot. I am so sorry to worry you like this—and really I don’t know how I had
the courage to come—I’m afraid you’ll think it very bold of me—and I’m sure I don’t want to
take up your time—I know what time means to a busy professional man—but really I have been
so unhappy—only I daresay you will think it all a waste of time—”
Profiting by a long experience of the English people, Poirot suggested a cup of tea. Miss
Nevill’s reaction was all that could be hoped for.
“Well, really, M. Poirot, that’s very kind of you. Not that it’s so very long since breakfast, but
one can always do with a cup of tea, can’t one?”
Poirot, who could always do without one, assented² mendaciously³. George was instructed to this
effect, and in a miraculously⁴ short time Poirot and his visitor faced each other across a tea tray.
“I must apologize to you,” said Miss Nevill, regaining⁵ her aplomb⁶ under the influence of the
beverage⁷, “but as a matter of fact the inquest yesterday upset me a good deal.”
“I’m sure it must have done,” said Poirot kindly⁸.
“There was no question of my giving evidence, or anything like that. But I felt somebody ought
to go with Miss Morley. Mr. Reilly was there, of course—but I meant a woman. Besides, Miss

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