There usually is in a place like this if there's anything in it."

"Young Ferrier was tied up to a married woman. He might have warned the girl not to say anything about him to her employer."

"Likely enough. Mrs. Smythe would probably know that Lesley Ferrier was a bad character, and would warn the girl to have nothing to do with him."

Poirot folded up the letter and put it into his pocket.

"I wish you'd let me get you a pot of tea."

"No, no I must go back to my guest house and change my shoes. You do not know when your brother will be back?"

"i "I've no idea. They didn't say what they wanted him for."

Poirot walked along the road to his guest house. It was only a few hundred yards.

As he walked up to the front door it was opened and his landlady, a cheerful lady of thirty odd, came out to him.

"There's a lady here to see you," she said.

"Been waiting some time. I told her I didn't know where you'd gone exactly or when you'd be back, but she said she'd wait." She added,

"It's Mrs. Drake. She's in a state, I'd say. She's usually so calm about everything, but really I think she's had a shock of some kind.

She's in the sitting-room. Shall I bring you in some tea and something?"

"No," said Poirot, "I think it will be better not. I will hear first what she has to say."

He opened the door and went into the sitting-room. Rowena Drake had been standing by the window. It was not the window overlooking the front path so she had not seen his approach. She turned abruptly as she heard the sound of the door.

"Monsieur Poirot. At last. It seemed so long."

"I am sorry, Madame. I have been in the Quarry Wood and also talking to my friend, Mrs. Oliver. And then I have been talking to two boys.

To Nicholas and Desmond."

"Nicholas and Desmond? Yes, I know.

I wonder oh! one thinks all sorts of things."

"You are upset," said Poirot gently.

It was not a thing he thought he would ever see. Rowena Drake upset, no longer mistress of events, no longer arranging everything, and enforcing her decisions on others.

"You've heard, haven't you?" she asked.

"Oh well, perhaps you haven't."

"What should I have heard?"

"Something dreadful. He's he's dead.

Somebody killed him."

"Who is dead, Madame?"

"Then you haven't really heard. And he's only a child, too, and I thought oh, what a fool I've been. I should have told you. I should have told you when you asked me. It makes me feel terrible terribly guilty for thinking I knew best and thinking but I did mean if for the best, Monsieur Poirot, indeed I did."

"Sit down, Madame, sit down. Calm yourself and tell me. There is a child dead another child?"

"Her brother," said Mrs. Drake.

"Leopold."

"Leopold Reynolds?"

"Yes. They found his body on one of the field paths. He must have been coming back from school and gone out of his way to play in the brook near there. Somebody held him down in the brook held his head under water."

"The same kind of thing as they did to the child Joyce?"

"Yes, yes. I can see it must be it must be madness of some kind. And one doesn't know who, that's what's so awful. One hasn't the least idea. And I thought I knew. I really thought I suppose, yes, it was a very wicked thing."

"You must tell me, Madame."

"Yes, I want to tell you. I came here to tell you. Because, you see, you came to me after you'd talked to Elizabeth Whittaker.

After she'd told you that something had startled me. That I'd seen something.

Something in the hall of the house, my house. I said that I hadn't seen anything and that nothing had startled me because, you see, I thought " she stopped.

"What did you see?"

"I ought to have told you then. I saw the door of the library open, open rather carefully and then he came out. At least, he didn't come right out. He just stood in the doorway and then pulled the door back quickly and went back inside."

"Who was this?"

"Leopold. Leopold, the child that's been killed now. And you see, I thought I oh, what a mistake, what an awful mistake. If I'd told you, perhaps perhaps you'd have got at what was behind it."

"You thought?" Poirot said.

"You thought that Leopold had killed his sister.

Is that what you thought?"

"Yes, that's what I thought. Not then, of course, because I didn't know she was dead. But he had a queer look on his face.

He's always been a queer child. In a way you're a little afraid of him because you feel he's not-not quite right. Very clever and a high IQ, but all the same not all there.

"And I thought "Why is Leopold coming out of there instead of being at the Snapdragon?" and I thought "What's he been doing-he looks so queer?" And then, well then I didn't think of it again after that, but I suppose, the way he looked upset me. And that's why I dropped the vase. Elizabeth helped me to pick up the glass pieces, and I went back to the Snapdragon and I didn't think of it again. Until we found Joyce. And that's when I thought-" "You thought that Leopold had done it."

"Yes. Yes, I did think that. I thought it explained the way he'd looked. I thought I knew. I always think-I've thought too much all my life that I know things, that 333,. i, I'm right about things. And I can be very wrong. Because, you see, his being killed must mean something quite different. He must have gone in there, and he must have found her there dead and it gave him a terrible shock and he was frightened.

And so he wanted to come out of the room without anyone seeing him and I suppose he looked up and saw me and he got back into the room and shut the door and waited until the hall was empty before coming out.

But not because he'd killed her. No. Just the shock of finding her dead."

"And yet you said nothing? You didn't mention who it was you'd seen, even after the death was discovered?"

"No. I oh, I couldn't. He's you see, he's so young was so young, I suppose I ought to say now. Ten. Ten eleven at most and I mean I felt he couldn't have known what he was doing, it couldn't have been his fault exactly. He must have been morally not responsible. He's always been rather queer, and I thought one could get treatment for him. Not leave it all to the police. Not send him to approved places. I thought one could get special psychological treatment for him, if necessary. I-I meant well. You must believe that, I meant well."

Such sad words, Poirot thought, some of the saddest words in the world.

Mrs.

Drake seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Yes," she said, «I did it for the best." (I meant well." One always thinks one knows what is best to do for other people, but one doesn't. Because, you see, the reason he looked so taken aback must have been that he either saw who the murderer was, or saw something that would give a clue to who the murderer might be. Something that made the murderer feel that he himself wasn't safe. And so-and so he's waited until he got the boy alone and then drowned him in the brook so that he shouldn't speak, so that he shouldn't tell.

If I'd only spoken out, if I'd told you, or told the police, or told someone, but I thought I knew best."

"Only to-day," said Poirot, after he had sat silent for a moment or two, watching Mrs. Drake where she sat controlling her sobs, "I was told that Leopold had been ^ry flush of money lately. Somebody must have been paying him to keep silent."

"But who who?"

"We shall find out," said Poirot.

"It will not be long now."

IT was not very characteristic of Hercule Poirot to ask the opinions of others. He was usually quite satisfied with his own opinions.

Nevertheless, there were times when he made exceptions. This was one of them. He and Spence had had a brief conversation together and then Poirot had got in touch with a car hire service, and after another short conversation with his friend and with Inspector Raglan, he drove off. He had arranged with the car to drive him back to London but he had made one halt on the way there. He drove to The Elms. He told the driver of the car that he would not be long-a quarter of an hour at most-and then he sought audience with Miss Emiyn.