“You thought I had a weakness for the lady? Not at all. Far from it. Funnily enough, Carrington thought the same.”
“Yes, he has told me of the conversation he held with you on the subject.”
Lord Mayfield looked rather rueful.
“My little scheme didn’t come off. Always annoying to have to admit that a woman has got the better of you.”
“Ah, but she has not got the better of you yet, Lord Mayfield.”
“You think we may yet win? Well, I’m glad to hear you say so. I’d like to think it was true.”
He sighed.
“I feel I’ve acted like a complete fool—so pleased with my stratagem for entrapping the lady.”
Hercule Poirot said, as he lit one of his tiny cigarettes:
“What was your stratagem exactly, Lord Mayfield?”
“Well,” Lord Mayfield hesitated. “I hadn’t exactly got down to details.”
“You didn’t discuss it with anyone?”
“No.”
“Not even with Mr. Carlile?”
“No.”
Poirot smiled.
“You prefer to play a lone hand, Lord Mayfield.”
“I have usually found it the best way,” said the other a little grimly.
“Yes, you are wise. Trust no one. But you did mention the matter to Sir George Carrington?”
“Simply because I realized that the dear fellow was seriously perturbed about me.”
Lord Mayfield smiled at the remembrance.
“He is an old friend of yours?”
“Yes. I have known him for over twenty years.”
“And his wife?”
“I have known his wife also, of course.”
“But (pardon me if I am impertinent) you are not on the same terms of intimacy with her?”
“I don’t really see what my personal relationships to people has to do with the matter in hand, M. Poirot.”
“But I think, Lord Mayfield, that they may have a good deal to do with it. You agreed, did you not, that my theory of someone in the drawing room was a possible one?”
“Yes. In fact, I agree with you that that is what must have happened.”
“We will not say ‘must.’ That is too self-confident a word. But if that theory of mine is true, who do you think the person in the drawing room could have been?”