“Excuse me, but what evidence have you in support of this statement?”
Poirot said quietly:
“The evidence of the nail, the evidence of Miss Arundell’s own written words, and finally the evidence of Miss Lawson’s eyes.”
Theresa found her voice.
“She says I did it, does she?”
Poirot did not answer except by bending his head a little.
“Well, it’s a lie! I had nothing to do with it!”
“You were kneeling on the stairs for quite another reason?”
“I wasn’t kneeling on the stairs at all!”
“Be careful, mademoiselle.”
“I wasn’t there! I never came out of my room after I went to bed on any evening I was there.”
“Miss Lawson recognized you.”
“It was probably Bella Tanios or one of the maids she saw.”
“She says it was you.”
“She’s a damned liar!”
“She recognized your dressing gown and a brooch you wear.”
“A brooch—what brooch?”
“A brooch with your initials.”
“Oh, I know the one! What a circumstantial liar she is!”
“You still deny that it was you she saw?”
“If it’s my word against hers—”
“You are a better liar than she is—eh?”
Theresa said, calmly:
“That’s probably quite true. But in this case I’m speaking the truth. I wasn’t preparing a booby trap, or saying my prayers, or picking up gold or silver, or doing anything at all on the stairs.”
“Have you this brooch that was mentioned?”
“Probably. Do you want to see it?”
“If you please, mademoiselle.”
Theresa got up and left the room. There was an awkward silence. Dr. Donaldson looked at Poirot much as I imagined he might have looked at an anatomical specimen.
Theresa returned.
“Here it is.”