She came towards him, her hands outstretched.

"Derek-you have come to me. I knew you would."

He put aside the clinging arms and looked down on her sternly.

"Why did you send the Comte de la Roche to me?"

She looked at him in astonishment, which he took to be genuine.

«I? Send the Comte de la Roche to you?

But for what?"

"Apparently-for blackmail," said Derek grimly.

Again she stared. Then suddenly she smiled and nodded her head.

"Of course. It was to be expected. It is what he would do, ce type. I might have known it. No, indeed, Dereek, I did not send him."

He looked at her piercingly, as though seeking to read her mind.

"I will tell you," said Mirelle. "I am ashamed, but I will tell you. The other day you comprehend, I was mad with rage, quite mad-" she made an eloquent gesture. "My temperament, it is not a patient one. I want to be revenged on you, and so I go to the Comte de la Roche, and I tell him to go to the police and say so and so, and so and so.

But have no fear, Dereek. Not completely did I lose my head; the proof rests with me alone. The police can do nothing without my word, you understand? And now-now?"

She nestled up close to him, looking up at him with melting eyes.

He thrust her roughly away from him. She stood there, her breast heaving, her eyes narrowing to a catlike slit.

"Be careful, Dereek, be very careful. You have come back to me, have you not?"

"I shall never come back to you," said

Derek steadily.

"Ah!"

More than ever the dancer looked like a cat. Her eyelids flickered.

"So there is another woman? The one with whom you lunched that day. Eh! am I right?"

"I intend to ask that lady to marry me.

You might as well know." 'That prim Englishwoman! Do you think that I will support that for one moment? Ah, no." Her beautiful lithe body quivered.

"Listen, Dereek, do you remember that conversation we had in London? You said the only thing that could save you was the death of your wife. You regretted that she was so healthy. Then the idea of an accident came to your brain. And more than an accident."

"I suppose," said Derek contemptuously," that it was this conversation that you related to the Comte de la Roche." Mirelle laughed.

"Am I a fool? Could the police do anything with a vague story like that? See-I will give you a last chance. You shall give up this Englishwoman. You shall return to me. And then, cheri, never, never will I breathe-"

"Breathe what?"

She laughed softly. "You thought no one saw you-"

"What do you mean?"

"As I say, you thought no one saw you-but I saw you, Dereek, mon ami; I saw you coming out of the compartment of Madame - your wife just before the train got into Lyons that night. And I know more than that. I know that when you came out of her compartment she was dead."

He stared at her. Then, like a man in a dream he turned very slowly and went out of the room, swaying slightly as he walked.

"And so it is," said Poirot, "that we are the good friends and have no secrets from each other."

Katherine turned her head to look at him.

There was something in his voice, some undercurrent of seriousness, which she had not heard before.

They were sitting in the gardens of Monte Carlo. Katherine had come over with her friends, and they had run into Knighton and Poirot almost immediately on arrival. Lady Tamplin had seized upon Knighton and had overwhelmed him with reminiscences, most of which Katherine had a faint suspicion were invented. They had moved away together, Lady Tamplin with her hand on the Young man's arm. Knighton had thrown a couple of glances back over his shoulder, and Poirot's eyes twinkled a little as he saw them.

"I don't see-" began Katherine.

He interrupted her.

"You do not see why I am being so impertinent, Mademoiselle? I am an old man and now and then-not very often-I come across some one whose welfare is dear to me.

We are friends. Mademoiselle. You have said so yourself. And it is just this-I should like to see you happy."

Katherine stared very straight in front of her. She had a cretonne sunshade with her, and with its point she traced little designs in the gravel at her feet.

"I have asked you a question about Major Knighton, now I will ask you another. Do you like Mr. Derek Kettering?"

"I hardly know him," said Katherine.

"That is not an answer, that."

"I think it is."

He looked at her, struck by something in her tone. Then he nodded his head gravely and slowly.

"Perhaps you are right. Mademoiselle.

See you, I who speak to you have seen much of the world, and I know that there are two things which are true. A good man may be ruined by his love for a bad woman-but the other way holds good also. A bad man may equally be ruined by his love for a good woman."

Katherine looked up sharply.

"When you say ruined-"

"I mean from his point of view. One must be wholehearted in crime as in everything else."

"You are trying to warn me," said Katherine in a low voice. "Against whom?"

"I cannot look into your heart. Mademoiselle;

I do not think you would let me if I could. I will just say this. There are men who have a strange fascination for women."

"The Comte de la Roche," said Katherine, with a smile.

"There are others-more dangerous than the Comte de la Roche. They have qualities that appeal-recklessness, daring, audacity.

You are fascinated. Mademoiselle; I see that, but I think that it is no more than that. I hope so. This man of whom I speak, the emotion he feels is genuine enough, but all me same-"

"Yes?"

He got up and stood looking down at her. Then he spoke in a low, distinct voice:

"You could, perhaps, love a thief. Mademoiselle, but not a murderer."

He wheeled sharply away on that and left her sitting there.

He heard the little gasp she gave and paid no attention. He had said what he meant to say. He left her there to digest that last unmistakable phrase.

Derek Kettering, coming out of the Casino into the sunshine, saw her sitting alone on the bench and joined her.

"I have been gambling," he said, with a light laugh, "gambling unsuccessfully. I have lost everything-everything, that is, that I have with me."

Katherine looked at him with a troubled face. She was aware at once of something new in his manner, some hidden excitement that betrayed itself in a hundred different infinitesimal signs.

"I should think you were always a gambler.

The spirit of gambling appeals to you."

"Every day and in every way a gambler?

You are about right. Don't you find something stimulating in it? To risk all on one throw-there is nothing like it."

Calm and stolid as she believed herself to be, Katherine felt a faint answering thrill.

"I want to talk to you," went on Derek,

"and who knows when I may have another opportunity? There is an idea going about iat I murdered my wife-no, please don't iterrupt. It is absurd, of course." He mused for a minute or two, then went on, speaking more deliberately. "In dealing with thie police and Local Authorities here I have had to pretend to-well-a certain decency.

I prefer not to pretend with you. I meant to marry money. I was on the look out for money when I first met Ruth Van Aldin.

She had the look of a slim Madonna about her, and I-well-I made all sorts of good resolutions-and was bitterly disillusioned.

My wife was in love with another man when she married me. She never cared for me in the least. Oh, I am not complaining; the thing was a perfectly respectable bargain.

She wanted Leconbury and I wanted money.

The trouble arose simply through Ruth's American blood. Without caring a pin for me, she would have liked me to be continually dancing attendance. Time and again she as good as told me that she had bought me and that I belonged to her. The result was that I behaved abominably to her. My father-in-law will tell you that, and he is quite right. At the time of Ruth's death, I was faced with absolute disaster." He sighed suddenly. "One is faced with absolute disaster when one is up against a man like Rufus Van Aldin."