And, remember,
all this is in confidence."
"Oh, of course--that goes without saying."
We had walked, as we talked, and now we passed through the little
gate into the garden. Voices rose near at hand, for tea was
spread out under the sycamore-tree, as it had been on the day of
my arrival.
Cynthia was back from the hospital, and I placed my chair beside
her, and told her of Poirot's wish to visit the dispensary.
"Of course! I'd love him to see it. He'd better come to tea
there one day. I must fix it up with him. He's such a dear
little man! But he _is_ funny. He made me take the brooch out of
my tie the other day, and put it in again, because he said it
wasn't straight."
I laughed.
"It's quite a mania with him."
"Yes, isn't it?"
We were silent for a minute or two, and then, glancing in the
direction of Mary Cavendish, and dropping her voice, Cynthia
said:
"Mr. Hastings."
"Yes?"
"After tea, I want to talk to you."
Her glance at Mary had set me thinking. I fancied that between
these two there existed very little sympathy.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219