"And she lent you as much as you wanted?"
"Not at first.
Only a small sum to begin with." "And she lent you as much as you wanted?" "Not at first. Only a small sum to begin with."
"Who sent you to her?"
"Raymond - Mr Barraclough told me that he had heard she lent money to society women."
"But later she lent you more?"
"Yes, as much as I wanted.
It seemed like a miracle at the time."
"It was Madame Giselle's special kind of miracle," said Poirot dryly. "I gather that before then you and Mr Barraclough had become - er - friends?"
"Yes."
"But you were very anxious that your husband should not know about it?"
Cicely cried angrily: "Stephen's a prig! He's tired of me!
He wants to marry someone else. He'd have jumped at the thought of divorcing me."
"And you did not want divorce?"
"No.
I - I -"
"You liked your position, and also you enjoyed the use of a very ample income.
Quite so. Les femmes, naturally, they must look after themselves.
To proceed, there arose the question of repayment?"
"Yes.
And I - I couldn't pay back the money. And then the old devil turned nasty.
She knew about me and Raymond.
She'd found out places and dates and everything. I can't think how."
"She had her methods," said Poirot dryly. "And she threatened, I suppose, to send all this evidence to Lord Horbury."
"Yes, unless I paid up."
"And you couldn't pay?"
"No."
"So her death was quite providential?"
Cicely Horbury said earnestly: "It seemed too, too wonderful."
"Ah, precisely - too, too wonderful.
But it made you a little nervous, perhaps?"
"Nervous?"
"Well, after all, madame, you alone of anyone on the plane had a motive for desiring her death."
She drew in her breath sharply.
"I know.
It was awful.
I was in an absolute state about it."
"Especially since you had been to see her in Paris the night before and had had something of a scene with her?"
"The old devil!
She wouldn't budge an inch.
I think she actually enjoyed it.
Oh, she was a beast through and through!
I came away like a rag."
"And yet you said at the inquest that you had never seen the woman before?"
"Well, naturally, what else could I say?"
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully.
"You, madame, could say nothing else."
"It's been too ghastly - nothing but lies, lies, lies.
That dreadful inspector man has been here again and again badgering me with questions.
But I felt pretty safe. I could see he was only trying it on. He didn't know anything."