speech. There was something a little frightening about her stillness and aloofness.
'M. Poirot,' she said at last. 'I suppose there is no doubt that this-sad business last night was all part and parcel of the same thing? I mean-that the intended victim was really Nick?'
'I should say, Madame, that there was no doubt at all.'
Frederica frowned a little.
'Nick bears a charmed life,' she said.
There was some curious undercurrent in her voice that I could not understand.
'Luck, they say, goes in cycles,' remarked Poirot.
'Perhaps. It is certainly useless to fight against it.'
Now there was only weariness in her tone. After a moment or two, she went on.
'I must beg your pardon, M. Poirot. Nick's pardon, too. Up till last night I did not believe. I never dreamed that the danger was-serious.'
'Is that so, Madame?'
'I see now that everything will have to be gone into-carefully. And I imagine that Nick's immediate circle of friends will not be immune from suspicion. Ridiculous, of course, but there it is. Am I right, M. Poirot?'
'You are very intelligent, Madame.'
'You asked me some questions about Tavistock the other day, M. Poirot. As you will find out sooner or later, I might as well tell you the truth now. I was not at Tavistock.'
'No, Madame?'
'I motored down to this part of the world with Mr Lazarus early last week. We did not wish to arouse more comment than necessary. We stayed at a little place called Shellacombe.'
'That is, I think, about seven miles from here, Madame?'
'About that-yes.'
Still that quiet far-away weariness.
'May I be impertinent, Madame?'
'Is there such a thing-in these days?'
'Perhaps you are right, Madame. How long have you and M. Lazarus been friends?'
'I met him six months ago.'
'And you-care for him, Madame?'
Frederica shrugged her shoulders.
'He is-rich.'
'Oh! La la,' cried Poirot. 'That is an ugly thing to say.'
She seemed faintly amused.
'Isn't it better to say it myself-than to have you say it for me?'
'Well-there is always that, of course. May I repeat, Madame, that you are very intelligent.'
'You will give me a diploma soon,' said Frederica, and rose. 'There is nothing more you wish to tell me, Madame?'
'I do not think so-no. I am going to take some flowers round to Nick and see how she is.'
'Ah, that is very amiable of you. Thank you, Madame, for your frankness.'
She glanced at him sharply, seemed about to speak, then thought better of it and went out of the room, smiling faintly at me as I held the door open for her.
'She is intelligent,' said Poirot. 'Yes, but so is Hercule Poirot!' 'What do you mean?'
'That it is all very well and very pretty to force the richness of M. Lazarus down my throat-'
'I must say that rather disgusted me.'
'Mon cher, always you have the right reaction in the wrong place. It is not, for the moment, a question of good taste or otherwise. If Madame Rice has a devoted friend who is rich and can give her all she needs-why then obviously Madame Rice would not need to murder her dearest friend for a mere pittance.'
'Oh!' I said.
'Precisement! “Oh!”'
'Why didn't you stop her going to the nursing home?'
'Why should I show my hand? Is it Hercule Poirot who prevents Mademoiselle Nick from seeing her friends? Quelle idee! It is the doctors and the nurses. Those tiresome nurses! So full of rules and regulations and “doctors' orders”.'
'You're not afraid that they may let her in after all? Nick may insist.'
'Nobody will be let in, my dear Hastings, but you and me. And for that matter, the sooner we make our way there, the better.'
The sitting-room door flew open and George Challenger barged in. His tanned face was alive with indignation.
'Look here, M. Poirot,' he said. 'What's the meaning of this? I rang up that damned nursing home where Nick is. Asked how she was and what time I could come round and see her. And they say the doctor won't allow any visitors. I want to know the meaning of that. To put it plainly, is this your
'M. Poirot,' she said at last. 'I suppose there is no doubt that this-sad business last night was all part and parcel of the same thing? I mean-that the intended victim was really Nick?'
'I should say, Madame, that there was no doubt at all.'
Frederica frowned a little.
'Nick bears a charmed life,' she said.
There was some curious undercurrent in her voice that I could not understand.
'Luck, they say, goes in cycles,' remarked Poirot.
'Perhaps. It is certainly useless to fight against it.'
Now there was only weariness in her tone. After a moment or two, she went on.
'I must beg your pardon, M. Poirot. Nick's pardon, too. Up till last night I did not believe. I never dreamed that the danger was-serious.'
'Is that so, Madame?'
'I see now that everything will have to be gone into-carefully. And I imagine that Nick's immediate circle of friends will not be immune from suspicion. Ridiculous, of course, but there it is. Am I right, M. Poirot?'
'You are very intelligent, Madame.'
'You asked me some questions about Tavistock the other day, M. Poirot. As you will find out sooner or later, I might as well tell you the truth now. I was not at Tavistock.'
'No, Madame?'
'I motored down to this part of the world with Mr Lazarus early last week. We did not wish to arouse more comment than necessary. We stayed at a little place called Shellacombe.'
'That is, I think, about seven miles from here, Madame?'
'About that-yes.'
Still that quiet far-away weariness.
'May I be impertinent, Madame?'
'Is there such a thing-in these days?'
'Perhaps you are right, Madame. How long have you and M. Lazarus been friends?'
'I met him six months ago.'
'And you-care for him, Madame?'
Frederica shrugged her shoulders.
'He is-rich.'
'Oh! La la,' cried Poirot. 'That is an ugly thing to say.'
She seemed faintly amused.
'Isn't it better to say it myself-than to have you say it for me?'
'Well-there is always that, of course. May I repeat, Madame, that you are very intelligent.'
'You will give me a diploma soon,' said Frederica, and rose. 'There is nothing more you wish to tell me, Madame?'
'I do not think so-no. I am going to take some flowers round to Nick and see how she is.'
'Ah, that is very amiable of you. Thank you, Madame, for your frankness.'
She glanced at him sharply, seemed about to speak, then thought better of it and went out of the room, smiling faintly at me as I held the door open for her.
'She is intelligent,' said Poirot. 'Yes, but so is Hercule Poirot!' 'What do you mean?'
'That it is all very well and very pretty to force the richness of M. Lazarus down my throat-'
'I must say that rather disgusted me.'
'Mon cher, always you have the right reaction in the wrong place. It is not, for the moment, a question of good taste or otherwise. If Madame Rice has a devoted friend who is rich and can give her all she needs-why then obviously Madame Rice would not need to murder her dearest friend for a mere pittance.'
'Oh!' I said.
'Precisement! “Oh!”'
'Why didn't you stop her going to the nursing home?'
'Why should I show my hand? Is it Hercule Poirot who prevents Mademoiselle Nick from seeing her friends? Quelle idee! It is the doctors and the nurses. Those tiresome nurses! So full of rules and regulations and “doctors' orders”.'
'You're not afraid that they may let her in after all? Nick may insist.'
'Nobody will be let in, my dear Hastings, but you and me. And for that matter, the sooner we make our way there, the better.'
The sitting-room door flew open and George Challenger barged in. His tanned face was alive with indignation.
'Look here, M. Poirot,' he said. 'What's the meaning of this? I rang up that damned nursing home where Nick is. Asked how she was and what time I could come round and see her. And they say the doctor won't allow any visitors. I want to know the meaning of that. To put it plainly, is this your
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