suspicions upon him. He prepares no defence—no shadow of an alibi, yet he knows the chemist’s assistant must necessarily come forward with the facts. Bah! do not ask me to believe that any man could be so idiotic! Only a lunatic, who wished to commit suicide by causing himself to be hanged, would act so!”
“Still—I do not see—” I began.
“Neither do I see. I tell you, mon ami, it puzzles me. Me —Hercule Poirot!”
“But if you believe him innocent, how do you explain his buying the strychnine?”
“Very simply. He did not buy it.”
“No, I do not think so. You see, under the terms of their father’s will, while John inherited the property, Lawrence, at his stepmother’s death, would come into a considerable sum of money. Mrs. Inglethorp left her money to her elder stepson, knowing that he would have to keep up Styles. It was, to