the first, and you may have picked up some little hints. From the evidence at the inquest, Mr. Inglethorp murdered his wife as sure as I stand here, and if anyone but you hinted the contrary I’d laugh in his face. I must say I was surprised the jury didn’t bring it in Wilful Murder against him right off. I think they would have, if it hadn’t been for the Coroner—he seemed to be holding them back.”
“Perhaps, though, you have a warrant for his arrest in your pocket now,” suggested Poirot.
A kind
“Why?”
“Because Mademoiselle Cynthia does not take sugar in her coffee.”
“What? You cannot be serious?”
“But I am most serious. Ah, there is something there that I do not understand. My instinct was right.”
“What instinct?”
“The instinct that led me to insist on examining those coffee-cups. Chut! no more now!”