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breath and looked sharply at the man to find him staring at Poirot with a kind of startled fear visible on his face. I put the fact away in my mind for what it might be worth. Japp marched into the dining-room, which lay on our right, and called the butler in after him.
    “Now then, Alton, I want to go into this again very carefully. It was ten o'clock when this lady came?”
    “Her ladyship? Yes, sir.”
    “How did you recognise her?” asked Poirot.
    “She told her name, sir, and besides I've seen her portrait in the papers. I've seen her act, too.”
    Poirot nodded.
    “How was she dressed?”
    “In black sir. Black walking dress, and a small black hat. A string of pearls and grey gloves.”
    Poirot looked a question at Japp.
    “White taffeta evening dress and ermine wrap,” said the latter succinctly.
    The butler proceeded. His tale tallied exactly with that which Japp had already passed on to us.
    “Did anybody else come to see your master that evening?” asked Poirot.
    “No, sir.”
    “How was the front door fastened?”
    “It has a Yale lock, sir. I usually draw the bolts when I go to bed, sir. At eleven, that is. But last night Miss Geraldine was at the Opera so it was left unbolted.”
    “How was it fastened this morning?”
    “It was bolted, sir. Miss Geraldine had bolted it when she came in.”
    “When did she come in? Do you know?”
    “I think it was about a quarter to twelve, sir.”
    “Then during the evening until a quarter to twelve, the door could not be opened from the outside without a key? From the inside it could be opened by simply drawing back the handle.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “How many latchkeys were there?”
    “His lordship had his, sir, and there was another key in the hall drawer which Miss Geraldine took last night. I don't know if there were any others.”
    “Does nobody else in the house have a key?”
    “No, sir. Miss Carroll always rings.”
    Poirot intimated that that was all he wished to ask, and we went in search of the secretary.
    We found her busily writing at a large desk.
    Miss Carroll was a pleasant efficient-looking woman of about forty-five. Her fair hair was turning grey and she wore pince-nez through which a pair of shrewd blue eyes gleamed out on us. When she spoke I recognised the clear businesslike voice that had spoken to me through the telephone.
    “Ah! M. Poirot,” she said as she acknowledged Japp's introduction. “Yes. It was with you I made that appointment for yesterday morning.”
    “Precisely, Mademoiselle.”
    I thought that Poirot was favourably impressed by her. Certainly she was neatness and precision personified.
    “Well, Inspector Japp?” said Miss Carroll. “What more can I do for you?”
    “Just this. Are you absolutely certain that it was Lady Edgware who came here last night?”
    “That's the third time you've asked me. Of course I'm sure. I saw her.”
    “Where did you see her, Mademoiselle?”
    “In the hall. She spoke to the butler for a minute, then she went along the hall and in at the library door.”
    “And where were you?”
    “On the first floor looking down.”
    “And you were positive you were not mistaken?”
    “Absolutely. I saw her face distinctly.”
    “You could not have been misled by a resemblance?”
    “Certainly not. Jane Wilkinson's features are quite unique. It was her.”
    Japp threw a glance at Poirot as much as to say: “You see.”
    “Had Lord Edgware any enemies?” asked Poirot suddenly.
    “Nonsense,” said Miss Carroll.
    “How do you mean - nonsense, Mademoiselle?”
    “Enemies! People in these days don't have enemies. Not English people!”
    “Yet Lord Edgware was murdered.”
    “That was his wife,” said Miss Carroll. “A wife is not an enemy - no?”
    “I'm sure it was a most extraordinary thing to happen. I've never heard of such a thing happening - I mean to anyone in our class of life.”
    It was clearly Miss Carroll's idea that murders were only committed by drunken members of