"If one does guess, one should guess with assurance." "And then," continued Cicely, pursuing her own line of thought, "I couldn't help feeling that if anything were to leak out, it would have leaked out at once.
I felt safe till that awful letter yesterday."
"You have not been afraid all this time?"
"Of course I've been afraid!"
"But of what?
Of exposure? Or of being arrested for murder?"
The color ebbed away from her cheeks.
"Murder! But I didn't - Oh, you don't believe that! I didn't kill her. I didn't!"
"You wanted her dead."
"Yes, but I didn't kill her!... Oh, you must believe me - you must. I never moved from my seat. I -"
She broke off. Her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on him imploringly.
Hercule Poirot nodded soothingly.
"I believe you, madame, for two reasons - first, because of your sex, and, secondly, because of a wasp."
She stared at him.
"A wasp?"
"Exactly.
That does not make sense to you, I see.
Now then, let us attend to the matter ir hand.
I will deal with this Mr Robinson. I pledge you my word that you shall never see or hear of him again. I will settle his - his - I have forgotten the word - his bacon? No, his goat.
Now, in return for my services, I will ask you two little questions.
Was Mr Barraclough in Paris the day before the murder?"
"Yes, we dined together.
But he thought it better I should go and see the woman alone."
"Ah, he did, did he?
Now, madame, one further question: Your stage name before you were married was Cicely Bland.
Was that your real name?"
"No, my real name is Martha Jebb.
But the other -"
"- made a better professional name.
And you were born - where?"
"Doncaster; but why -"
"Mere curiosity.
Forgive me.
And now, Lady Horbury, will you permit me to give you some advice?
Why not arrange with your husband a discreet divorce?"
"And let him many that woman?"
"And let him marry that woman.
You have a generous heart, madame.
And besides, you will be safe - oh, so safe and your husband he will pay you an income."
"Not a very large one."
"Eh bien, once you are free, you will marry a millionaire."
"There aren't any nowadays."
"Ah, do not believe that, madame.
The man who had three millions, perhaps now he has two million - it is still enough."
Cicely laughed.
"You're very persuasive, M. Poirot.
And are you really sure that dreadful man will never bother me again?"
"On the word of Hercule Poirot," said that gentleman solemnly.
Chapter 20
Detective Inspector Japp walked briskly up Harley Street, stopped at a certain door, and asked for Doctor Bryant.