He lifted the telephone receiver, and Battle’s voice spoke: “That M. Poirot?” “Yes, it is. Qu’est ce qu’il y a?” The mere inflection of the superintendent’s voice had told him that something had happened. His own vague misgivings came back to him. “But quickly, my friend, tell me.” “It’s Mrs. Lorrimer.” “Lorrimer—yes?” “What the devil did you say to her—or did she say to you—yesterday? You never told me anything; in fact, you let me think that the Meredith girl was the one we were after.” Poirot said quietly: “What has happened?” “Suicide.” “Mrs. Lorrimer has committed suicide?” “That’s right. It seems she has been very depressed and unlike herself lately. Her doctor had ordered her some sleeping stuff. Last night she took an overdose.” Poirot drew a deep breath. “There is no question of—accident?” “Not the least. It’s all cut and dried. She wrote to the three of them.” “Which three?” “The other three. Roberts, Despard and Miss Meredith.
