“How do I know? You may be on his side.”
“I am on no one’s side, madame. I am—always—on the side of truth.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Tanios hopelessly. “Oh, I don’t know.” She went on, her words gathering volume, tumbling over each other.
“It’s been so awful—for years now. I’ve seen things happening again and again. And I couldn’t say anything or do anything. There have been the children. It’s been like a long nightmare. And now this… But I won’t go back to him. I won’t let him have the children! I’ll go somewhere where he can’t find me. Minnie Lawson will help me. She’s been so kind—so wonderfully kind. Nobody could have been kinder.” She stopped, then shot a quick look at Poirot and asked:
“What did he say about me? Did he say I had delusions?”
“He said, madame, that you had—changed towards him.”
She nodded.
“And he said I had delusions. He did say that, didn’t he?”
“Yes, madame, to be frank, he did.”
“That’s it, you see. That’s what it will sound like. And I’ve no proof—no real proof.”
Poirot leaned back in his chair. When he next spoke it was with an entire change of manner.
He spoke in a matter-of-fact, businesslike voice with as little emotion as if he had been discussing some dry matter of business.
“Do you suspect your husband of doing away with Miss Emily Arundell?”
Her answer came quickly—a spontaneous flash.
“I don’t suspect—I know.”
“Then, madame, it is your duty to speak.”
“Ah, but it isn’t so easy—no, it isn’t so easy.”
“How did he kill her?”
“I don’t know exactly—but he did kill her.”
“But you don’t know the method he employed?”
“No—it was something—something he did that last Sunday.”
“The Sunday he went down to see her?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know what it was?”
“No.”
“Then how, forgive me, madame, can you be so sure?”
“Because he—” she stopped and said slowly, “I am sure!”
“Pardon, madame, but there is something you are keeping back. Something you have not yet told me?”
“Yes.”
“Come, then.”