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"
Ça
se
voit
,
"
said
Poirot
with
a
smile
.
"
Well
,
it
may
be
that
you
are
right
,
but
I
will
point
out
to
you
,
my
friend
,
that
there
is
absolutely
no
evidence
against
the
man
.
"
"
And
what
about
the
psychology
?
Do
not
Italians
stab
?
"
"
Assuredly
,
"
said
Poirot
.
"
Especially
in
the
heat
of
a
quarrel
.
But
this
--
this
is
a
different
kind
of
crime
.
I
have
the
little
idea
,
my
friend
,
that
this
is
a
crime
very
carefully
planned
and
staged
.
It
is
a
far-sighted
,
long-headed
crime
.
It
is
not
--
how
shall
I
express
it
?
--
a
Latin
crime
.
It
is
a
crime
that
shows
traces
of
a
cool
,
resourceful
,
deliberate
brain
--
I
think
an
Anglo-Saxon
brain
.
"
He
picked
up
the
last
two
passports
.
"
Let
us
now
,
"
he
said
,
"
see
Miss
Mary
Debenham
.
"
When
Mary
Debenham
entered
the
dining
car
she
confirmed
Poirot
's
previous
estimate
of
her
.
Very
neatly
dressed
in
a
little
black
suit
with
a
French
grey
shirt
,
the
smooth
waves
of
her
dark
head
were
neat
and
unruffled
.
Her
manner
was
as
calm
and
unruffled
as
her
hair
.
She
sat
down
opposite
Poirot
and
M.
Bouc
and
looked
at
them
inquiringly
.
"
Your
name
is
Mary
Hermione
Debenham
,
and
you
are
twenty-six
years
of
age
?
"
began
Poirot
.
"
Yes
.
"
