Across the width of the table that separated them Poirot looked at her searchingly.
They were alone together. Through a glass
wall a warder watched them.
Poirot noted the sensitive intelligent face with the square, white forehead, and the delicate modelling of the ears and nose. Fine lines; a proud, sensitive creature, showing breeding, self-restraint and—something else—a capacity for passion.
He said:
“I am Hercule Poirot. I have been sent to you by Dr. Peter Lord. He thinks that I can help you.”
Elinor Carlisle said:
“Peter Lord…” Her tone was reminiscent. For a moment she smiled a little wistfully. She went on formally: “It was kind of him, but I do not think there is anything you can do.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Will you answer my questions?”
She sighed. She said:
“Believe me—really—it would be better not to ask them. I am in good hands. Mr. Seddon has been most kind. I am to have a very famous counsel.”
Poirot said:
“He is not so famous as I am!”
Elinor Carlisle said with a touch of weariness:
“He has a great reputation.”
“Yes, for defending criminals. I have a great reputation—for demonstrating innocence.”
She lifted her eyes at last—eyes of a vivid, beautiful blue. They looked straight into Poirot’s. She said:
“Do you believe I am innocent?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Are you?”
Elinor smiled, an ironic little smile. She said:
“Is that a sample of your questions? It is very easy, isn’t it, to answer Yes?”
He said unexpectedly:
“You are very tired, are you not?”
Her eyes widened a little. She answered:
“Why, yes—that more than anything. How did you know?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“I knew….”
Elinor said: