The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories (Hercule Poirot 21)

into the chest, and half an hour later is dancing in

that same room with the wife of his victim. Think!

If she had imagined for one moment--"

"True," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That much-vaunted

possession, a woman's intuition--it does

not seem to havebeen working."

"The party seems to have gone off very mer-rily,''

I said with a slight shiver. "And all that

time, as they danced and played poker, there was a

dead man in the room with them. One could write

a play about such an idea."

"It has been done," said Poirot. "But console

yourself, Hastings," he added kindly. "Because

a theme has been used once, there is no reason

why it should not be used again. Compose your

drama."

I had picked up the paper and was studying the

rather blurred reproduction of a photograph.

"She must be a beautiful woman," I said

slowly. "Even from this, one gets an idea."

Below the picture ran the inscription:

A RECENT PORTRAIT OF MRS. CLAYTON, THE

WIFE OF THE MURDERED MAN

Poirot took the paper from me.

"Yes," he said. "She is beautiful. Doubtless

she is of those born to trouble the souls of men."

He handed the paper back to me with a sigh.

"Dieu merci, I am not of an ardent tempera-ment.

It has saved me from many embarrass-ments.

I am duly thankful."