they were evidently quarrelling. And, quite as evidently, they were unaware of my vicinity, for before I could move or speak John repeated the words which had aroused me from my dream.
“I tell you, Mary, I won’t have it.”
Mary’s voice came, cool and liquid:
“Have you any right to criticize my actions?”
“It will be the talk of the village! My mother was only buried on Saturday, and here you are gadding about with the fellow.”
“Oh,” she shrugged her shoulders, “if it is only village gossip that you mind!”
follow him, he ran swiftly down the stairs and opened the door. Mr. Mace began at once.
“Oh, Mr. Poirot, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I heard that you’d just come back from the Hall?”
“Yes, we have.”
The young man moistened his dry lips. His face was working curiously.
“It’s all over the