The Cornish Mystery: A Hercule Poirot Short Story. Agatha Christie

whatever,’ said Mrs Pengelley emphatically.

      Poirot shifted his ground.

      ‘You and your husband are, I presume, in comfortable circumstances?’

      ‘Yes, we’re very nicely off.’

      ‘The money, is it yours or your husband’s?’

      ‘Oh, it’s all Edward’s. I’ve nothing of my own.’

      ‘You see, madame, to be businesslike, we must be brutal. We must seek for a motive. Your husband, he would not poison you just pour passer le temps! Do you know of any reason why he should wish you out of the way?’

      ‘There’s the yellow-haired hussy who works for him,’ said Mrs Pengelley, with a flash of temper. ‘My husband’s a dentist, M. Poirot, and nothing would do but he must have a smart girl, as he said, with bobbed hair and a white overall, to make his appointments and mix his fillings for him. It’s come to my ears that there have been fine goings-on, though of course he swears it’s all right.’