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bad repair, there has not been, I gather, much money to spend upon it. Under those circumstances, is it not possible that Mademoiselle would consider an offer?'
    'Not the least likelihood of it.' Charles Vyse shook his head with the utmost decision. 'My cousin is absolutely devoted to the place. Nothing would induce her to sell, I know. It is, you understand, a family place.'
    'I comprehend that, but-'
    'It is absolutely out of the question. I know my cousin. She has a fanatical devotion to the house.'
    A few minutes later we were out in the street again.
    'Well, my friend,' said Poirot. 'And what impression did this M. Charles Vyse make upon you?'
    I considered.
    'A very negative one,' I said at last. 'He is a curiously negative person.' 'Not a strong personality, you would say?'
    'No, indeed. The kind of man you would never remember on meeting him again. A mediocre person.'
    'His appearance is certainly not striking. Did you notice any discrepancy in the course of our conversation with him?'
    'Yes,' I said slowly, 'I did. With regard to the selling of End House.'
    'Exactly. Would you have described Mademoiselle Buckley's attitude towards End House as one of “fanatical devotion”?'
    'It is a very strong term.'
    'Yes-and Mr Vyse is not given to using strong terms. His normal attitude-a legal attitude-is to under, rather than over, state. Yet he says that Mademoiselle has a fanatical devotion to the home of her ancestors.'
    'She did not convey that impression this morning,' I said. 'She spoke about it very sensibly, I thought. She's obviously fond of the place-just as anyone in her position would be-but certainly nothing more.'
    'So, in fact, one of the two is lying,' said Poirot, thoughtfully. 'One would not suspect Vyse of lying.'
    'Clearly a great asset if one has any lying to do,' remarked Poirot. 'Yes, he has quite the air of a George Washington, that one. Did you notice another thing, Hastings?'
    'What was that?'
    'He was not in his office at half-past twelve on Saturday.'

The Peril at End House

Chapter 7 – Tragedy
    The first person we saw when we arrived at End House that evening was Nick. She was dancing about the hall wrapped in a marvellous kimono covered with dragons.
    'Oh! it's only you!' 'Mademoiselle-I am desolated!'
    'I know. It did sound rude. But you see, I'm waiting for my dress to arrive. They promised-the brutes-promised faithfully!'
    'Ah! if it is a matter of la toilette ! There is a dance tonight, is there not?' 'Yes. We are all going on to it after the fireworks. That is, I suppose we are.' There was a sudden drop in her voice. But the next minute she was laughing.
    'Never give in! That's my motto. Don't think of trouble and trouble won't come! I've got my nerve back tonight. I'm going to be gay and enjoy myself.'
    There was a footfall on the stairs. Nick turned.
    'Oh! here's Maggie. Maggie, here are the sleuths that are protecting me from the secret assassin. Take them into the drawing-room and let them tell you about it.'
    In turn we shook hands with Maggie Buckley, and, as requested, she took us into the drawing-room. I formed an immediate favourable opinion of her.
    It was, I think, her appearance of calm good sense that so attracted me. A quiet girl, pretty in the old-fashioned sense-certainly not smart. Her face was innocent of make-up and she wore a simple, rather shabby, black evening dress. She had frank blue eyes, and a pleasant slow voice.
    'Nick has been telling me the most amazing things,' she said. 'Surely she must be exaggerating? Who ever would want to harm Nick? She can't have an enemy in the world.'
    Incredulity showed strongly in her voice. She was looking at Poirot in a somewhat unflattering fashion. I realized that to a girl like Maggie Buckley, foreigners were always suspicious.
    'Nevertheless, Miss Buckley, I assure you that it is the truth,' said Poirot quietly. She made no reply, but her face remained unbelieving.
    'Nick seems quite fey tonight,' she remarked. 'I don't know