the last supper

figure.It was almost impossible to recognise the seedy Ascher in this smartyoung man with the military bearing. I recalled the leering drunken old man，and the toil-worn face of thedead woman-and I shivered a little at the remorselessness of time...... From the parlour a stair led to two upstairs rooms. One was empty and unfurnished，the other had evidently been the deadwoman's bedroom. After being searched by the police it had been left as it was.A coupleof old worn blankets on the bed-a little stock of well-darned underwear in adrawer-cookery recipets in another-a paper-backed novel entitled The

GreenOasis-a pair of new stockings-pathetic in their cheap shininess-a couple ofchina ornaments-a Dresden shephered much broken，and a blue and yellowspotted dog-a black raincoat and a woolly jumper hanging on pegs-such werethe worldly possessions of the late Alice Ascher. If there had been any personal papers，the police had taken them. "Pauvre femme，"murmured Poirot.