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a woman. And I'm a good shot.” She smiled a faraway, reminiscent smile. “When I went home as a child with my mother, to South Carolina, my grandfather taught me to shoot. He was the old-fashioned kind that believes in shooting - especially where honour is concerned. My father, too, he fought several duels as a young man. He was a good swordsman. He killed a man once. That was over a woman. So you see, Monsieur Poirot -” she met his eyes squarely - “I've hot blood in me! I bought this when it first happened. I meant to kill one or other of them - the trouble was I couldn't decide which. Both of them would have been unsatisfactory. If I'd thought Linnet would have looked afraid - but she's got plenty of physical courage. She can stand up to physical action. And then I thought I'd - wait! That appealed to me more and more. After all, I could do it any time; it would be more fun to wait and - think about it! And then this idea came to my mind - to follow them! Whenever they arrived at some faraway spot and were together and happy, they should see me! And it worked! It got Linnet badly - in a way nothing else could have done! It got right under her skin... That was when I began to enjoy myself. And there's nothing she can do about it! I'm always perfectly pleasant and polite! There's not a word they can take hold of! It's poisoning everything - everything - for them.”
    Her laugh rang out, clear and silvery.
    Poirot grasped her arm.
    “Be quiet. Quiet, I tell you.”
    Jacqueline looked at him.
    “Well?” she asked. Her smile was definitely challenging.
    “Mademoiselle, I beseech you, do not do what you are doing.”
    “Leave dear Linnet alone, you mean?”
    “It is deeper than that. Do not open your heart to evil.”
    Her lips fell apart; a look of bewilderment came into her eyes.
    Poirot went on gravely: “Because - if you do - evil will come... Yes, very surely evil will come... It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will no longer be possible to drive it out.”
    Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver, to flicker uncertainly. She said, “I - don't know -” Then she cried out defiantly, “You can't stop me.”
    “No,” said Hercule Poirot. “I cannot stop you.”
    His voice was sad.
    “Even if I were to - kill her, you couldn't stop me.”
    “No - not if you were willing to pay the price.”
    Jacqueline de Bellefort laughed.
    “Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for, after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you - even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?”
    Poirot said steadily: “Yes, Mademoiselle. I believe it is the unforgivable offence - to kill.”
    Jacqueline laughed again.
    “Then you ought to approve of my present scheme of revenge; because, you see, as long as it works, I shan't use that pistol... But I'm afraid - yes, afraid sometimes - it all goes red - I want to hurt her - to stick a knife into her, to put my dear little pistol close against her head and then - just press with my finger - Oh!” The exclamation startled him.
    “What is it, Mademoiselle?”
    She had turned her head and was staring into the shadows.
    “Someone - standing over there. He's gone now.”
    Hercule Poirot looked round sharply.
    The place seemed quite deserted.
    “There seems no one here but ourselves, Mademoiselle.” He got up. “In any case I have said all I came to say. I wish you good-night.”
    Jacqueline got up too. She said almost pleadingly, “You do understand - that I can't do what you ask me to do?”
    Poirot shook his head.
    “No - for you could do it! There is always a moment! Your friend Linnet - there was a moment, too, in which she could have held her hand... She let it pass by. And if one does that, then one is committed to the enterprise and there comes no second chance.”
    “No second chance...” said Jacqueline de Bellefort.
    She stood brooding for a moment;