夜雨聆风I‘Is anything worrying you, mon ami?’ asked Poirot that afternoon.
I did not answer him, merely shook my head. I felt that I had no right toburden Poirot with this, my purely personal problem. It was not as thoughhe could help in any way.
Judith would have treated any remonstrances on his part with the smil-ing detachment of the young towards the boring counsels of the old.
Judith, my Judith …
It is hard now to describe just what I went through that day. Afterwards,thinking it over, I am inclined to put something down to the atmosphere ofStyles itself. Evil imaginings came easily to the mind there. There was, too,not only the past, but a sinister present. The shadow of murder and a mur-derer haunted the house.
And to the best of my belief the murderer was Allerton and Judith waslosing her heart to him! It was unbelievable – monstrous – and I didn’tknow what to do.
It was after lunch that Boyd Carrington drew me aside. He hemmed andhawed a bit before coming to the point. At last he said rather jerkily:
‘Don’t think I’m interfering, but I think you ought to speak to that girl ofyours. Give her a word of warning, eh? You know this fellow Allerton –reputation’s pretty bad, and she – well, it looks rather like a case.’
