As we neared the house, John came out and met us. His face looked weary and haggard.
“This is a very dreadful business, Monsieur Poirot,” he said. “Hastings has explained to you that we are anxious for no publicity?”
“I comprehend perfectly.”
“You see, it is only suspicion so far. We have nothing to go upon.”
“Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only.”
John turned to me, taking out his cigarette-case, and lighting a cigarette as he did so.
“You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?”
“Yes. I met him.”
placing a cushion at her back, and altogether playing the part of the devoted husband. Immediately after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp retired to her boudoir again.
“Send my coffee in here, Mary,” she called. “I’ve just five minutes to catch the post.”
Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the