fair and girlish-looking, with the wide innocent blue eyes of a child.
Poirot drew forward a chair for her, and she commenced talking at once.
"You will probably think me very foolish, Monsieur Poirot, but Lord Cronshaw was telling me last night how wonderfully you cleared up the mystery of his nephew's death, and I felt that I just must have your advice. I dare say it's only a silly hoax—Gregory says so—but it's just worrying me to death."
She paused for breath. Poirot beamed encouragement.
"Proceed, Madame. You comprehend, I am still in the dark."
"It's these letters." Miss Marvell unclasped her handbag, and drew out three envelopes which she handed to Poirot.
The latter scrutinized them closely.
"Cheap paper—the name and address carefully printed. Let us see the inside." He drew out the enclosure.
I had joined him, and was leaning over his shoulder. The writing consisted of a single sentence, carefully printed like the envelope. It ran as follows:
