The Murder on the Links. Agatha Christie

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      ‘A moment, messieurs, while I steel myself.’

      She took her hand away and looked down at the dead man. Then the marvellous self-control which had upheld her so far deserted her.

      ‘Paul!’ she cried. ‘Husband! Oh, God!’ And pitching forward she fell unconscious to the ground.

      Instantly Poirot was beside her, he raised the lid of her eye, felt her pulse. When he had satisfied himself that she had really fainted, he drew aside. He caught me by the arm.

      ‘I am an imbecile, my friend! If ever there was love and grief in a woman’s voice, I heard it then. My little idea was all wrong. Eh bien! I must start again!’