ent type, this, from Miss Mary Marvell. Tall, dark, with flashing eyes, and a pale proud face—yet something wistful in the curves of the mouth.
I felt a desire to rise to the occasion. Why not? In Poirot's presence I have frequently felt a difficulty—I do not appear at my best. And yet there is no doubt that I, too, possess the deductive sense in a marked degree. I leant forward on a sudden impulse.
"Lady Yardly," I said, "I know why you have come here. You have received blackmailing letters about the diamond."
There was no doubt as to my bolt having shot home. She stared at me open-mouthed, all colour banished from her cheeks.
"You know?" she gasped. "How?"
I smiled.
"By a perfectly logical process. If Miss Marvell has had warning letters———"
"Miss Marvell? She has been here?"
"She has just left. As I was saying, if she, as the holder of one of the twin diamonds, has received a mysterious series of warnings, you, as the holder of the other stone, must necessarily have done the same. You see how simple it is?
