down on the extreme edge of a chair. She looked bonier and more acid than ever.
"I have come to ask you yet more questions," said Poirot. "We must get to the bottom of this affair. Always I return to the question of the man in the train. You have been shown the Comte de la Roche. You say that it is possible he was the man, but you are not sure."
"As I told you, sir, I never saw the gentleman's face. That is what makes it so difficult."
Poirot beamed and nodded.
"Precisely, exactly. I comprehend well the difficulty. Now, Mademoiselle, you have been in the service of Madame Kettering two months, you say. During that time, how often did you see your master?"
Mason reflected a minute or two, and then said:
"Only twice, sir."
"And was that near to, or far away?"
"Well once, sir, he came to Curzon Street. I was upstairs, and I looked over the banisters and saw him in the hall below. I was a bit curious like, you understand, knowing the way things—er—were." Mason finished up with her discreet cough.
"And the other time?"
"I was in the Park, sir, with Annie—one of the housemaids, sir, and she pointed out the master to me walking with a foreign lady."
Again Poirot nodded.
"Now listen. Mason, this man whom you saw in the carriage talking to your mistress at the Gare de Lyon, how do you know it was not your master?"
"The master, sir? Oh, I don't think it could have been."
