"She knows a great deal that I do not, and she is a charming and reliable person. It was a terrible tragedy that happened later. She knows if anyone does what led to it. She is very discreet. She has never told me anything. Whether she will tell you, I do not know. She may do, she may not." Poirot stood for a moment or two looking at Mademoiselle Meauhourat. He had been impressed by Mademoiselle Rouselle.

He was impressed also by the woman who stood waiting to receive him now. She was not so formidable, she was much younger, at least ten years younger, he thought, and she had a different kind ofimpressiveness. She was alive, still attractive, eyes that watched you and made their own judgment on you, willing to welcome you, looking with kindliness on those who came her way, but without undue softness. Here is someone, thought Hercule Poirot, very remarkable.

"I am Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle." "I know. I was expecting you either today or tomorrow." "Ah. You received a letter from me?" "No. It is no doubt still in the post. Our posts are a little uncertain. No, I had a letter from someone else." "From Celia Ravenscroft?" "No. It was a letter written by someone in close touch with Celia. A boy or a young man, whichever we like to regard him as, called Desmond Burton-Cox. He prepared me for your arrival." "Ah. I see. He is intelligent and he wastes no time, I think.

He was very urgent that I should come and see you." "So I gathered. There's trouble, I understand. Trouble that he wants to resolve, and so does Celia. They think you can help them?" "Yes, and they think that you can help me." "They are in love with each other and wish to marry." "Yes, but there are difficulties being put in their way." "Ah, by Desmond's mother, I presume. So he lets me understand." "There are circumstances, or have been circumstances, in Celia's life that have prejudiced his mother against his early marriage to this particular girl." "Ah. Because of the tragedy, for it was a tragedy." "Yes, because of the tragedy. Celia has a godmother who was asked by Desmond's mother to try and find out from Celia the exact circumstances under which that suicide occurred." "There's no sense in that," said Mademoiselle Meauhourat.

She motioned with her hand. "Sit down. Please sit down. I expect we shall have to talk for some little time. Yes, Celia could not tell her godmother-Mrs. Ariadne Oliver, the novelist, is it not? Yes, I remember. Celia could not give her the information because she has not got the information herself." "She was not there when the tragedy occurred, and no one told her anything about it. Is that right?" "Yes, that is right. It was thought inadvisable." "Ah. And do you approve of that decision or disapprove of it?" "It is difficult to be sure. Very difficult. I've not been sure of it in the years that have passed since then, and there are quite a lot. Celia, as far as I know, has never been worried.

Worried, I mean, as to the why and wherefore. She's accepted it as she would have accepted an airplane accident or a car accident. Something that resulted in the death of her parents.

She spent many years in a pensionnat abroad." "Actually I think the pensionnat was run by you. Mademoiselle Meauhourat." "That is quite true. I have retired recently. A colleague of mine is now taking it on. But Celia was sent out to me and I was asked to find for her a good place for her to continue her education, as many girls do come to Switzerland for that purpose. I could have recommended several places. At the moment I took her into my own." "And Celia asked you nothing, did not demand information?" "No. It was, you see, before the tragedy happened." "Oh. I did not quite understand that." "Celia came out here some weeks before the tragic occurrence.

I was at that time not here myself. I was still with General and Lady Ravenscroft. I looked after Lady Ravenscroft, acting as a companion to her rather than as a governess to Celia, who was still at that moment in boarding-school. But it was suddenly arranged that Celia should come to Switzerland and finish her education there." "Lady Ravenscroft had been in poor health, had she not?" "Yes. Nothing very serious. Nothing as serious as she had herself feared at one time. But she had suffered a lot of nervous strain and shock and general worry." "You remained with her?" "A sister whom I had living in Lausanne received Celia on her arrival and settled her into the institution which was only for about fifteen or sixteen girls, but there she would start her studies and await my return. I returned some three or four weeks later." "But you were at Overcliffe at the time it happened." "I was at Overcliffe. General and Lady Ravenscroft went for a walk, as was their habit. They went out and did not return. They were found dead, shot. The weapon was found lying by them. It was one that belonged to General Ravenscroft and had been always kept in a drawer in his study. The fingermarks of both of them were found on that weapon.

There was no definite indication of who had held it last.

Impressions of both people, slightly smeared, were on it. The obvious solution was a double suicide." "You found no reason to doubt that?" "The police found no reason, so I believe." "Ah," said Poirot.

"I beg your pardon?" said Mademoiselle Meauhourat.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just something upon which I reflect." Poirot looked at her. Brown hair as yet hardly touched with gray, lips closed firmly together, gray eyes, a face which showed no emotion. She was in control of herself completely.

"So you cannot tell me anything more?" "I fear not. It was a long time ago." "You remember that time well enough." "Yes. One cannot entirely forget such a sad thing." "And you agreed that Celia should not be told anything more of what had led up to this?" "Have I not just told you that I had no extra information?" "You were there, living at Overcliffe, for a period of time before the tragedy, were you not? Four or five weeks-six weeks, perhaps." "Longer than that, really. Although I had been governess to Celia early, I came back this time, after she went to school, in order to help Lady Ravenscroft." "Lady Ravenscroft's sister was living with her also about that time, was she not?" "Yes. She had been in hospital having special treatment for I elephants can remember some time. She had shown much improvement and the authorities had felt-the medical authorities I speak of-that she would do better to lead a normal life with her own relations and the atmosphere of a home. As Celia had gone to school, it seemed a good time for Lady Ravenscroft to invite her sister to be with her." "Were they fond of each other, those two sisters?" "It was difficult to know," said Mademoiselle Meauhourat.

Her brows drew together. It was as though what Poirot had just said aroused her interest. "I have wondered, you know. I have wondered so much since, and at the time, really. They were identical twins, you know. They had a bond between them, a bond of mutual dependence and love and in many ways they were very alike. But there were ways also in which they were not alike." "You mean? I should be glad to know just what you mean by that." "Oh, this has nothing to do with the tragedy. Nothing of that kind. But there was a definite, as I shall put it, a definite physical or mental flaw-whichever way you like to put it.

Some people nowadays hold the theory that there is some physical cause for any kind of mental disorder. I believe that it is fairly well recognized by the medical profession that identical twins are born either with a great bond between them, a great likeness in their characters which means that although they may be divided in their environment, where they are brought up, the same things will happen to them at the same time of life. They will take the same trend. Some of the cases quoted as medical examples seem quite extraordinary.