Poirot said gently: “Will you come with me, Mademoiselle? Monsieur Doyle wants to see you.” She started up. Her face flushed—then paled. She looked bewildered. “Simon? He wants to see me—to see me?” He found her incredulity moving. “Will you come, Mademoiselle?” She went with him in a docile fashion, like a child, but like a puzzled child.
