“How long had you been in this room when you heard the scream, monsieur?”
Carlile considered.
“Between five and ten minutes, I should say.”
“And before that there had been no disturbance of any kind?”
“No.”
“I understand that the house party had been in one room for the greater part of the evening.”
“Yes, the drawing room.”
Poirot consulted his notebook.
“Sir George Carrington and his wife. Mrs. Macatta. Mrs. Vanderlyn. Mr. Reggie Carrington. Lord Mayfield and yourself. Is that right?”
“I myself was not in the drawing room. I was working here the greater part of the evening.”
Poirot turned to Lord Mayfield.
“Who went up to bed first?”
“Lady Julia Carrington, I think. As a matter of fact, the three ladies went out together.”
“And then?”
“Mr. Carlile came in and I told him to get out the papers as Sir George and I would be along in a minute.”
“It was then that you decided to take a turn on the terrace?”
“It was.”
“Was anything said in Mrs. Vanderlyn’s hearing as to your working in the study?”
“The matter was mentioned, yes.”
“But she was not in the room when you instructed Mr. Carlile to get out the papers?”
“No.”
“Excuse me, Lord Mayfield,” said Carlile. “Just after you had said that, I collided with her in the doorway. She had come back for a book.”
“So you think she might have overheard?”
“I think it quite possible, yes.”
“She came back for a book,” mused Poirot. “Did you find her her book, Lord Mayfield?”
“Yes, Reggie gave it to her.”
“Ah, yes, it is what you call the old gasp—no, pardon, the old wheeze—that—to come back for a book. It is often useful!”
“You think it was deliberate?”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
“And after that, you two gentlemen go out on the terrace. And Mrs. Vanderlyn?”