dangers. Women could work themselves up, they could reach an alarming pitch of hysteria unnoticed by the oblivious male who was the object of their devotion.
'A sly, scheming, clever cat, that's what she is,' said Miss Brewis tearfully.
'You say is, not was, I observe,' said Poirot.
'Of course she isn't dead!' said Miss Brewis, scornfully. 'Gone off with a man, that's what she's done! That's her type.'
'It is possible. It is always possible,' said Poirot. He took another piece of toast, inspected the marmalade pot gloomily and looked down the table to see if there were any kind of jam. There was none, so he resigned himself to butter.
'It's the only explanation,' said Miss Brewis. 'Of course he wouldn't think of it.'
'Has there – been any – trouble with men?' asked Poirot, delicately.
'Oh, she's been very clever,' said Miss Brewis.
'You mean you have not observed anything of the kind?'
'She'd be careful that I shouldn't,' said Miss Brewis.
'But you think that there may have been – what shall I say? – surreptitious episodes?'
'She's done her best to make a fool of Michael Weyman,' said Miss Brewis. 'Taking him down to see the camellia gardens at this time of year! Pretending she's so interested in the tennis pavilion.'
'After all, that is his business for being here and I understand Sir George is having it built principally to please his wife.'
'She's no good at tennis,' said Miss Brewis. 'She's no good at any games. Just wants an attractive setting to sit in, while other people run about and get hot. Oh, yes, she's done her best to make a fool of Michael Weyman. She'd probably have done it too, it he hadn't had other fish to fry.'
'Ah,' said Poirot, helping himself to a very little marmalade, placing it on the corner of a piece of toast and taking a mouthful dubiously. 'So he has other fish to fry, M. Weyman?'
'It was Mrs Legge who recommended him to Sir George,' said Miss Brewis. 'She knew him before she was married. Chelsea, I understand, and all that. She used to paint, you know.'
'She seems a very attractive and intelligent young woman,' said Poirot tentatively.
'Oh, yes, she's very intelligent,' said Miss Brewis. 'She's had a university education and I dare say could have made a career for herself if she hadn't married.'
'Has she been married long?'
'About three years, I believe. I don't think the marriage has turned out very well.'
'There is – the incompatibility?'
'He's a queer young man, very moody. Wanders off a lot by himself and I've heard him very bad-tempered with her sometimes.'
'Ah, well,' said Poirot, 'the quarrels, the reconciliations, they are a part of early married life. Without them it is possible that life would be drab.'
'She's spent a good deal of time with Michael Weyman since he's been down here,' said Miss Brewis. 'I think he was in love with her before she married Alec Legge. I dare say it's only a flirtation on her side.'
'But Mr Legge was not pleased about it, perhaps?'
'One never knows with him, he's so vague, but I think he's been even moodier than usual, lately.'
'Did he admire Lady Stubbs, perhaps?'
'I dare say she thought he did. She thinks she only has to hold up a finger for any man to fall in love with her!'
'In any case, if she has gone off with a man, as you suggest, it is not Mr Weyman, for Mr Weyman is still here.'
'It's somebody she's been meeting on the sly, I've no doubt,' said Miss Brewis. 'She often slips out of the house on the quiet and goes off into the woods by herself. She was out the night before last. Yawning and saying she was going up to bed. I caught sight of her not half an hour later slipping out by the side door with a shawl over her head.'
Poirot looked thoughtfully at the woman opposite him. He wondered if any reliance at all was to be placed in Miss Brewis's statements where Lady Stubbs was concerned, or whether it was entirely wishful thinking on her part. Mrs Folliat, he was sure, did not share Miss Brewis's ideas and Mrs Folliat knew Hattie much better than Miss Brewis could do. If Lady Stubbs had run away with a lover it would clearly suit Miss Brewis's look very well. She would be left to console the bereaved husband and to arrange for him efficiently the details of divorce. But that did not make it true, or probable, or even likely. If Hattie Stubbs had left with a lover, she had chosen a very curious time to do so, Poirot thought. For his own part he did not believe she had.
Miss Brewis sniffed through her nose and gathered together various scattered correspondence.
'If Sir George really wants those advertisements put in, I suppose I'd better see about it,' she said. 'Complete nonsense and waste of time. Oh, good morning, Mrs Masterton,' she added, as the door opened with authority and Mrs Masterton walked in.
'Inquest is set for Thursday, I hear,' she boomed. ''Morning, M. Poirot.'
Miss Brewis paused, her hand full of letters.
'Anything I can do for you, Mrs Masterton?' she asked.
'No, thank you, Miss Brewis. I expect you've plenty on your hands this morning, but I do want to thank you for all the excellent work you put in yesterday. You're such a good organiser and such a hard worker. We're all very grateful.'
'Thank you, Mrs Masterton.'
'Now don't let me keep you. I'll just sit down and have a word with M. Poirot.'
'Enchanted, Madame,' said Poirot. He had risen to his feet and he bowed.
Mrs Masterton pulled out a chair and sat down.
Miss Brewis left the room, quite restored to her usual efficient self.
'Marvellous woman, that,' said Mrs Masterton. 'Don't know what the Stubbses would do without her. Running a house takes some doing nowadays. Poor Hattie couldn't have coped with it. Extraordinary business, this, M. Poirot. I came to ask you what you thought about it.'
'What do you yourself think, Madame?'
'Well, it's an unpleasant thing to face, but I should say we've got some pathological character in this part of the world. Not a native, I hope. Perhaps been let out of an asylum – they're always letting 'em out half-cured nowadays. What I mean is, no one would ever want to strangle that Tucker girl. There couldn't be any motive, I mean, except some abnormal one. And if this man, whoever he is, is abnormal I should say he's probably strangled that poor girl, Hattie Stubbs, as well. She hasn't very much sense you know, poor child. If she met an ordinary- looking man and he asked her to come and look at something in the woods she'd probably go like a lamb, quite unsuspecting and docile.'
'You think her body is somewhere on the estate?'
'Yes, M. Poirot, I do. They'll find it once they search around. Mind you, with about sixty-five acres of woodland here, it'll take some finding, if it's been dragged into the bushes or tumbled down a slope into the trees. What they need is bloodhounds,' said Mrs Masterton, looking, as she spoke, exactly like a bloodhound herself. 'Bloodhounds! I shall ring up the Chief Constable myself and say so.'
'It is very possible that you are right, Madame,' said Poirot. It was clearly the only thing one could say to Mrs Masterton.
'Of course I'm right,' said Mrs Masterton; 'but I must say, you know, it makes me very uneasy because the fellow is somewhere about. I'm calling in at the village when I leave here, telling the mothers to be very careful about their daughters – not let 'em go about alone. It's not a nice thought, M. Poirot, to have a killer in our midst.'
'A little point, Madame. How could a strange man have obtained admission to the boathouse? That would need a key.'
'Oh, that,' said Mrs Masterton,'that's easy enough. She came out, of course.'
'Came out of the boathouse?'
'Yes. I expect she got bored, like girls do. Probably wandered out and looked about her. The most likely thing, I think, is that she actually saw Hattie Stubbs murdered. Heard a struggle or something, went to see and the man
