Sixteen
II gave Norton Poirot’s message.
“I’ll go up and see him, certainly. I’d like to. But you know, Hastings, I’m rather sorry Imentioned the matter even to you.”
“By the way,” I said, “you haven’t said anything to anyone else about it, have you?”
“No—at least—no, of course not.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“No, no, I haven’t said anything.”
“Well, don’t. Not until after you’ve seen Poirot.”
I had noticed the slight hesitation¹ in his tone when he first answered, but his second assurancewas quite firm. I was to remember that slight hesitation afterwards, though.
II
I went up again to the grassy² knoll³ where we had been on that day. Someone else was therealready. Elizabeth Cole. She turned her head as I came up the slope.
She said: “You look very excited, Captain Hastings. Is anything the matter?”
I tried to calm myself.
“No, no, nothing at all. I’m just out of breath with walking fast.” I added in an everyday,commonplace voice: “It’s going to rain.”
She looked up at the sky. “Yes, I think it is.”
We stood there silent for a minute or two. There was something about this woman that I foundvery sympathetic. Ever since she had told me who she really was, and the tragedy that had ruinedher life, I had taken an interest in her. Two people who have suffered unhappiness have a greatbond in common. Yet for her there was, or so I suspected, a second spring. I said now impulsively⁴:
“Far from being excited, I’m depressed⁵ today. I’ve had bad news about my dear old friend.”
“About M. Poirot?”
Her sympathetic interest led me to unburden myself.
When I had finished she said softly: “I see. So—the end might come at any time?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
After a minute or two I said: “When he’s gone I shall indeed be alone in the world.”
“Oh, no, you’ve got Judith—and your other children.”
“They’re

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