without doubt. This Mr. Inglethorp, I should say, is somewhat of a scoundrel—but that does not of necessity make him a murderer.”
I shook my head, unconvinced.
“We do not agree, eh?” said Poirot. “Well, let us leave it. Time will show which of us is right. Now let us turn to other aspects of the case. What do you make of the fact that all the doors of the bedroom were bolted on the inside?”
“Well–-” I considered. “One must look at it logically.”
“True.”
“I should put it this way. The doors
she’s a careless girl. Never cleared the coffee-cups away last night. That’s what happens when I’m not here to look after things.”
Poirot lifted his hand.
“Since they have been left, Dorcas, leave them a little longer, I pray you. I should like to examine them.”
“Very well, sir.”
“What time did you go out last evening?”