to his moustache, and, carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, motioned me to precede him down the stairs; there we joined the detectives and set out for Styles.
I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather a shock—especially to John, though of course after the verdict, he had realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, the presence of the detectives brought the truth home to him more than anything else could have done.
Poirot had conferred with
“We went on with the begonias, sir.”
“Did not Mrs. Inglethorp call you again?”
“Yes, sir, both me and Willum, she called.”
“And then?”
“She made us come right in, and sign our names at the bottom of a long paper—under where she’d signed.”
“Did you see anything of what was written above her signature?” asked Poirot sharply.