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was, a proud wild creature, as untamed by civilization as some shy bird of
the hills. A little cry broke from her lips:
"You don't know, you don't know, how this hateful place has been prison to
me!"
"
I understand," I said, "but--but don't do anything rash."
Oh, rash!" Her voice mocked at my prudence.
"
Then suddenly I said a thing I could have bitten out my tongue for:
You know that Dr. Bauerstein has been arrested?"
"
An instant coldness passed like a mask over her face, blotting out all
expression.
"
"
"
"
"
John was so kind as to break that to me this morning."
Well, what do you think?" I asked feebly.
Of what?"
Of the arrest?"
What should I think? Apparently he is a German spy; so the gardener had
told John."
Her face and voice were absolutely cold and expressionless. Did she care, or
did she not?
She moved away a step or two, and fingered one of the flower vases.
"
These are quite dead. I must do them again. Would you mind moving--
thank you, Mr. Hastings." And she walked quietly past me out of the
window, with a cool little nod of dismissal.
No, surely she could not care for Bauerstein. No woman could act her part
with that icy unconcern.
Poirot did not make his appearance the following morning, and there was no
sign of the Scotland Yard men.
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