"You enrage yourself at me," said Poirot placidly.
"I expected as much. As to what I mean—I mean, Monsieur, that there is a second car with a lady in it. If you turn your head you will see her."
Derek spun round. His face darkened with anger.
"Mirelle, damn her!" he muttered. "I will soon"
Poirot arrested the movement he was about to make.
"Is it wise what you are about to do there?" he asked warningly. His eyes shone softly with a green light in them. But Derek was past noticing the warning signs.
In his anger he was completely off his guard.
"I have broken with her utterly, and she knows it," cried Derek angrily.
"You have broken with her, yes, but has she broken with you?
Derek gave a sudden harsh laugh.
"She won't break with two million pounds if she can help it," he murmured brutally; "trust Mirelle for that."
Poirot raised his eyebrows.
"You have the outlook cynical," he murmured.
"Have I?" There was no mirth in his sudden wide smile. "I have lived in the world long enough, M. Poirot, to know that all women are pretty much alike." His face softened suddenly. "All save one."
He met Poirot's gaze defiantly. A look of alertness crept into his eyes, then faded again. "That one," he said, and jerked his head in the direction of Cap Martin.
"Ah!" said Poirot.
This quiescence was well calculated to provoke the impetuous temperament of the other.
