She paused.

‘I’m going to give up the stage when I marry. I just don’t seem to care about it any more.’

‘In the meantime,’ said Poirot dryly, ‘Lord Edgware stands in the way of these romantic dreams.’

‘Yes-and it’s driving me to distraction.’ She leaned back thoughtfully. ‘Of course if we were only in Chicago I could get him bumped off quite easily, but you don’t seem to run to gunmen over here.’

‘Over here,’ said Poirot, smiling, ‘we consider that every human has the right to live.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that. I guess you’d be better off without some of your politicians, and knowing what I do of Edgware I think he’d be no loss-rather the contrary.’

There was a knock at the door, and a waiter entered with supper dishes. Jane Wilkinson continued to discuss her problem with no appreciation of his presence.

‘But I don’t want you to kill him for me, M. Poirot.’

‘Merci, Madame.’

‘I thought perhaps you might argue with him in some clever way. Get him to give in to the idea of divorce. I’m sure you could.’

‘I think you overrate my persuasive powers, Madame.’

‘Oh! but you can surely think ofsomething, M. Poirot.’ She leaned forward. Her blue eyes opened wide again. ‘You’d like me to be happy, wouldn’t you?’

Her voice was soft, low and deliciously seductive.

‘I should like everybody to be happy,’ said Poirot cautiously.

‘Yes, but I wasn’t thinking of everybody. I was thinking of just me.’

‘I should say you always do that, Madame.’

He smiled.

‘You think I’m selfish?’

‘Oh! I did not say so, Madame.’

‘I dare say I am. But, you see, I do so hate being unhappy. It affects my acting, even. And I’m going to be ever so unhappy unless he agrees to a divorce-or dies.

‘On the whole,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘it would be much better if he died, I mean, I’d feel more finally quit of him.’