'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.'
'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 in 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.
'Have you an appointment, sir?'
'No, I'll just write a few words,' and on an official card he wrote:
Should be much obliged if you could spare me a few moments. I won't keep you long.
He sealed up the card in an envelope and gave it to the butler.
He was shown into a waiting room. There were two women there and a man. Japp settled down with an elderly copy of Punch.
The butler reappeared, and crossing the floor, said in a discreet voice:
'If you wouldn't mind waiting a short time, sir, the doctor will see you, but he's very busy this morning.'
Japp nodded. He did not in the least mind waiting – in fact, he rather welcomed it. The two women had begun to talk. They had, obviously, a very high opinion of Doctor Bryant's abilities. More patients came in. Evidently Doctor Bryant was doing well in his profession.
'Fairly coining money,' thought Japp to himself. 'That doesn't look like needing to borrow, but of course the loan may have taken place a long time ago. Anyway, he's got a fine practice; a breath of scandal would bust it to bits. That's the worst of being a doctor.'
A quarter of an hour later, the butler reappeared and said:
'The doctor will see you now, sir.'
