"That, mademoiselle, is a very candid state-ment."
"I am saving you time, M. Poirot. I realize
quite well what you are getting at. My stepmother
married my father for his money. I live here
because I have no money to live elsewhere. There
is a man I wish to marry--a poor man; my father
saw to it that he lost his job. He wanted me, you
see, to marry well--an easy matter since I was to
be his heiress!"
"Your father's fortune passes to you?"
"Yes. That is, he left Louise, my stepmother, a
quarter of a million free of tax, and there are other
legacies, but the residue goes to me." She smiled
suddenly. "So you see, M. Poirot, I had every
reason to desire my father's death!"
"I see, mademoiselle, that you have inherited
your father's intelligence."
She said thoughtfully, "Father was clever ....
One felt that with him--that he had force--driving
power--but it had all turned sour--bitter
-there was no humanity left .... "
Hercule Poirot said softly, "Grand Dieu, but
what an imbecile I am .... "
Joanna Farley turned towards the door. "Is
there anything more?"
"Two little questions. These tongs here," he
picked up the lazytongs, "were they always on the
table?" -
*;'L "Yes. Father used them for picking up things.
I