“Do you ever prescribe chloral for your wife?”
Tanios gave a startled movement.
“I—no—at least I may have done. But not lately. She seems to have taken an aversion to any form of sleeping draught.”
“Ah! I suppose because she does not trust you?”
“M. Poirot!”
Tanios came striding forward angrily.
“That would be part of the disease,” said Poirot smoothly.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“She is probably highly suspicious of anything you give her to eat or drink. Probably suspects you of wanting to poison her?”
“Dear me, M. Poirot, you are quite right. You know something of such cases, then?”
“One comes across them now and then in my profession, naturally. But do not let me detain you. You may find her waiting for you at the hotel.”
“True. I hope I shall. I feel terribly anxious.”
He hurried out of the room.
Poirot went swiftly to the telephone. He flicked over the pages of the telephone directory and asked for a number.
“Allo—Allo—is that the Durham Hotel. Can you tell me if Mrs. Tanios is in? What? T A N I O S. Yes, that is right. Yes? Yes? Oh, I see.”
He replaced the receiver.
“Mrs. Tanios left the hotel this morning early. She returned at eleven, waited in the taxi whilst her luggage was brought down and drove away with it.”
“Does Tanios know she took away her luggage?”
“I think not as yet.”
“Where has she gone?”
“Impossible to tell.”
“Do you think she will come back here?”
“Possibly. I cannot tell.”
“Perhaps she will write.”
“Perhaps.”
“What can we do?”
Poirot shook his head. He looked worried and distressed.
“Nothing at the moment. A hasty lunch and then we will go and see Theresa Arundell.”
“Do you believe it was her on the stairs?”
“Impossible to tell. One thing I made sure of—Miss Lawson could not have seen her face. She saw a tall figure in a dark dressing gown, that is all.”