Poirot nodded happily.
"Mais oui.
As I came out I heard one man say to the other:
'That little foreigner - mark my words - he done it!'
The jury thought the same."
Jane was uncertain whether to condole or to laugh.
She decided on the latter.
Poirot laughed in sympathy.
"But, see you," he said, "definitely I must set to work and clear my character."
With a smile and a bow, he moved away.
Jane and Norman stared after his retreating figure.
"What an extraordinarily rum little beggar," said Gale. "Calls himself a detective. I don't see how he could do much detecting.
Any criminal could spot him a mile off.
I don't see how he could disguise himself."
"Haven't you got a very old-fashioned idea of detectives?" asked Jane. "All the false-beard stuff is very out of date.
Nowadays detectives just sit and think out a case psychologically."
"Rather less strenuous."
"Physically, perhaps.
But of course you need a cool clear brain."
"I see.
A hot muddled one won't do."
They both laughed.
"Look here," said Gale. A slight flush rose in his cheeks and he spoke rather fast: "Would you mind - I mean, it would be frightfully nice of you - it's a bit late - but how about having some tea with me?
I feel - comrades in misfortune and -"
He stopped. To himself he said:
"What is the matter with you, you fool?
Can't you ask a girl to have a cup of tea without stammering and blushing and making an utter ass of yourself?
What will the girl think of you?"
Gale's confusion served to accentuate Jane's coolness and self-possession.
"Thank you very much," she said. "I would like some tea."
They found a tea shop, and a disdainful waitress with a gloomy manner took their order with an air of doubt as of one who might say:
"Don't blame me if you're disappointed.
They say we serve teas here, but I never heard of it."
The tea shop was nearly empty. Its emptiness served to emphasize the intimacy of tea drinking together.
Jane peeled off her gloves and looked across the table at her companion.
He was attractive - those blue eyes and that smile. And he was nice too.
"It's a queer show, this murder business," said Gale, plunging hastily into talk. He was still not quite free from an absurd feeling of embarrassment.
"I know," said Jane. "I'm rather worried about it - from the point of view of my job, I mean.
I don't know how they'll take it."
"Ye-es.
I hadn't thought of that."
"Antoine's mayn't like to employ a girl who's been mixed up in a murder case and had to give evidence and all that."
"People are queer," said Norman Gale thoughtfully. "Life's so - so unfair. A thing like this isn't your fault at all." He frowned angrily. "It's damnable!"
"Well, it hasn't happened yet," Jane reminded him. "No good getting hot and bothered about something that hasn't happened. After all, I suppose there is some point in it; I might be the person who murdered her!
And when you've murdered one person, they say you usually murder a lot more; and it wouldn't be very comfortable having your hair done by a person of that kind."
"Anyone's only got to look at you to know you couldn't murder anybody," said Norman, gazing at her earnestly.
"I'm not sure about that," said Jane. "I'd like to murder some of my ladies sometimes - if I could be sure I'd get away with it!
There's one in particular - she's got a voice like a corn crake and she grumbles at everything. I really think sometimes that murdering her would be a good deed and not a crime at all.
So you see I'm quite criminally minded."
"Well, you didn't do this particular murder, anyway," said Gale. "I can swear to that."