"Yes," said Katherine thoughtfully. "I suppose I did."
"And that impression was"
"Yes, Mademoiselle"—the Commissary jerked himself forward—"let us by all means have your impressions."
Katherine sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word "Murder" ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman.
"That is interesting," said the Commissary, glancing at the other. "Eh, M. Poirot, that is interesting? Whether it has anything to do with the crime"
He left the sentence unfinished.
"I suppose it could not be suicide," said Katherine, rather doubtfully.
"No," said the Commissary, "it could not be suicide. She was strangled with a length of black cord."
"Oh!" Katherine shivered. M. Caux spread out his hands apologetically. "It is not nice—no. I think that our train robbers are more brutal than they are in your country."
"It is horrible."
"Yes, yes"—he was soothing and apologetic—"but you have great courage, Mademoiselle. At once, as soon as I saw you, I said to myself, 'Mademoiselle has great courage.' That is why I am going to ask you to do something more—something distressing, but I assure you very necessary."
