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"Enchanted, madame"

All the way to Styles, Mary talked fast and feverishly It struck me that in some way she was nervous of Poirot's eyes

The weather had broken, and the sharp as almost autumnal in its shrewishness Mary shivered a little, and buttoned her black sports coat closer The wind through the trees

We walked up to the great door of Styles, and at once the knowledge ca out toher hands I are of other servants huddled together in the background, all eyes and ears

"Oh, m'am! Oh, m'am! I don't kno to tell you--"

"What is it, Dorcas?" I asked impatiently "Tell us at once"

"It's those wicked detectives They've arrested hiasped

I saw a strange look come into Dorcas's eyes

"No, sir Not Mr Lawrence--Mr John"

Behind ainst me, and as I turned to catch her I met the quiet triumph in Poirot's eyes