one chair, settled himself in another, and turned a
gaze of acute inquiry upon his visitor.
"You're very quick onto the mark, M. Poirot.
Come to see us about this Rosebank case almost
before we know it is a case. What put you onto
it?"
Poirot drew out the letter he had received and
handed it to the inspector. The latter read it with
some interest.
"Interesting," he said. "The trouble is, it might
mean so many things. Pity she couldn't have been
a little more explicit. It would have helped Us
now."
"Or there might have been no need for help."
"You mean?"
"She might have been alive."
"You go as far as that, do you? H'm--I'm not
sure you're wrong."
"I pray of you, inspector, recount to me the
facts. I know nothing at all."
HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?
65
"That's easily done. Old lady was taken bad
after dinner on Tuesday night. Very alarming.
Convulsions--spasms--what not. They sent for
the doctor. By the time he arrived she was dead.
Idea was she'd died of a fit. Well, he didn't much
like the look of things. He hemmed and hawed
and put it with a bit of soft sawder, but he made it
clear that he couldn't give a death certificate. And