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probability. But this was simply something that she heard the girl say.”
    “What, the child Joyce?”
    “Yes.”
    Spence leant forward and looked at Poirot inquiringly.
    “I will tell you,” said Poirot.
    Quietly and succinctly he recounted the story as Mrs Oliver had told it to him.
    “I see,” said Spence. He rubbed his moustache. “The girl said that, did she? Said she'd seen a murder committed. Did she say when or how?”
    “No,” said Poirot. “What led up to it?”
    “Some remark, I think, about the murders in Mrs Oliver's books. Somebody said something about it to Mrs Oliver. One of the children, I think, to the effect that there wasn't enough blood in her books or enough bodies. And then Joyce spoke up and said she'd seen a murder once.”
    “Boasted of it? That's the impression you're giving me.” “That's the impression Mrs Oliver got. Yes, she boasted of it.” “It mightn't have been true.” “No, it might not have been true at all,” said Poirot.
    “Children often make these extravagant statements when they wish to call attention to themselves or to make an effect. On the other hand, it might have been true. Is that what you think?”
    “I do not know,” said Poirot. “A child boasts of having witnessed a murder. Only a few hours later, that child is dead. You must admit that there are grounds for believing that it might - it's a farfetched idea perhaps - but it might have been cause and effect. If so, somebody lost no time.”
    “Definitely,” said Spence. “How many were present at the time the girl made her statement re murder, do you know exactly?”
    “All that Mrs Oliver said was that she thought there were about fourteen or fifteen people, perhaps more. Five or six children, five or six grown-ups who were running the show. But for exact information I must rely on you.”
    “Well, that will be easy enough,” said Spence. “I don't say I know off-hand at the moment, but it's easily obtained from the locals. As to the party itself, I know pretty well already. A preponderance of women, on the whole. Fathers don't turn up much at children's parties. But they look in, sometimes, or come to take their children home. Dr Ferguson was there, the vicar was there. Otherwise, mothers, aunts, social workers, two teachers from the school. Oh, I can give you a list of roughly about fourteen children. The youngest not more than ten running on into teenagers.”
    “And I suppose you would know the list of probables amongst them?” said Poirot.
    “Well, it won't be so easy now if what you think is true.”
    “You mean you are no longer looking for a sexually disturbed personality. You are looking instead for somebody who has committed a murder and got away with it, someone who never expected it to be found out and who suddenly got a nasty shock.”
    “Blest if I can think who it could have been, all the same,” said Spence. “I shouldn't have said we had any likely murderers round here. And certainly nothing spectacular in the way of murders.”
    “One can have likely murderers anywhere,” said Poirot, “or shall I say unlikely murderers, but nevertheless murderers. Because unlikely murderers are not so prone to be suspected. There is probably not very much evidence against them, and it would be a rude shock to such a murderer to find that there had actually been an eyewitness to his or her crime.”
    “Why didn't Joyce say anything at the time? That's what I'd like to know. Was she bribed to silence by someone, do you think? Too risky surely.”
    “No,” said Poirot. “I gather from what Mrs Oliver mentioned that she didn't recognise that it was a murder she was looking at at the time.”
    “Oh, surely that's most unlikely,” said Spence.
    “Not necessarily,” said Poirot. “A child of thirteen was speaking. She was remembering something she'd seen in the past. We don't know exactly when. It might have been three or even four years previously. She saw something but she didn't