“You were in the garden last night. Did you at any time step in the flower bed outside Sir Gervase’s study window?”
Ruth stared at him.
“Yes, twice.”
“Ah! Twice. How twice?”
“The first time I was picking michaelmas daisies. That was about seven o’clock.”
“Was it not rather an odd time of day to pick flowers?”
“Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. I’d done the flowers yesterday morning, but Vanda said after tea that the flowers on the dinner table weren’t good enough. I had thought they would be all right, so I hadn’t done them fresh.”
“But your mother requested you to do them? Is that right?”
“Yes. So I went out just before seven. I took them from that part of the border because hardly anyone goes round there, and so it didn’t matter spoiling the effect.”
“Yes, yes, but the second time. You went there a second time, you said?”
“That was just before dinner. I had dropped a spot of brilliantine on my dress—just by the shoulder. I didn’t want to bother to change, and none of my artificial flowers went with the yellow of that dress. I remembered I’d seen a late rose when I was picking the michaelmas daisies, so I hurried out and got it and pinned it on my shoulder.”
Poirot nodded his head slowly.
“Yes, I remember that you wore a rose last night. What time was it, madame, when you picked that rose?”
“I don’t really know.”
“But it is essential, madame. Consider—reflect.”
Ruth frowned. She looked swiftly at Poirot and then away again.
“I can’t say exactly,” she said at last. “It must have been—oh, of course—it must have been about five minutes past eight. It was when I was on my way back round the house that I heard the gong go, and then that funny bang. I was hurrying because I thought it was the second gong and not the first.”
“Ah, so you thought that—and did you not try the study window when you stood there in the flowerbed?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I thought it might be open, and it would be quicker to come in that way. But it was fastened.”
“So everything is explained. I congratulate you, madame.”
She stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“That you have an explanation for everything, for the mould on your shoes, for your footprints in the flower bed, for your fingerprints on the outside of the window. It is very convenient that.”
Before Ruth could answer, Miss Lingard came hurrying down the stairs. There was a queer purple flush on her cheeks, and she looked a little startled at seeing Poirot and Ruth standing together.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Is anything the matter?”
Ruth said angrily:
“I think M. Poirot has gone mad!”
She swept by them and into the dining room. Miss Lingard turned an astonished face on Poirot.
He shook his head.
“After breakfast,” he said. “I will explain. I should like everyone to assemble in Sir Gervase’s study at ten o’clock.”