Twenty-two
It was not very characteristic of Hercule Poirot to ask the opinions of others. He was usually quitesatisfied with his own opinions. Nevertheless, there were times when he made exceptions. Thiswas one of them. He and Spence had had a brief conversation together and then Poirot had got intouch with a car hire service and after another short conversation with his friend and withInspector Raglan, he drove off. He had arranged with the car to drive him back to London but hehad made one halt on the way there. He drove to The Elms. He told the driver of the car that hewould not be long—a quarter of an hour at most—and then he sought audience with Miss Emlyn.
“I am sorry to disturb you at this hour. It is no doubt the hour of your supper or dinner.”
“Well, I do you at least the compliment, Monsieur Poirot, to think you would not disturb me ateither supper or dinner unless you have a valid¹ reason for so doing.”
“You are very kind. To be frank, I want your advice.”
“Indeed?”
Miss Emlyn looked slightly surprised. She looked more than surprised, she looked sceptical.
“That does not seem very characteristic of you, Monsieur Poirot. Are you not usually satisfiedwith your own opinions?”
“Yes, I am satisfied with my own opinions, but it would give me solace² and support if someonewhose opinion I respected agreed with them.”
She did not speak, merely looked at him inquiringly.
“I know the killer³ of Joyce Reynolds,” he said. “It is my belief that you know it also.”
“I have not said so,” said Miss Emlyn.
“No. You have not said so. And that might lead me to believe that it is on your part an opiniononly.”
“A hunch⁴?” inquired Miss Emlyn, and her tone was colder than ever.
“I would prefer not to use that word. I would prefer to say that you had a definite opinion.”
“Very well then. I will admit that I have a definite opinion. That does not mean that I shallrepeat to you what my opinion is.”
“What I should like to do, Mademoiselle, is to write down four words on a piece of paper. I willask you if you agree with the four words I have written.”
Miss Emlyn rose. She crossed the room to her desk, took a piece of writing paper and cameacross to Poirot with it.

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