that Mrs Ascher had been afraid of him-real tartar she could be whenroused!Given as good as she got any day.But there it was-the pitcher couldgo to the well once too ofter.Again and again，she，Mrs Fowler，had said toher:"One of these days that man will do for you. Mark my words." And he had done，hadn't he?And there had she，Mrs Fowler，been rightnext door and never heard a sound. In a pause Poirot managed to insert a question.
Had Mrs Ascher ever received any peculiar letters-letters without aproper signature-just something like A B C? Regretfully，Mrs Fowler returned a negative answer. "I know the kind of thing you mean-anonymous letters they callthem-mostly full of words you'd blush to say out loud.Well，I don't know，I'm sure，if Franz Ascher ever took to writing those.Mrs Ascher never let onto me if he did.What's that?A railway guide，an A B C?No，I never saw such a
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