lightening of the heart. Mary Cavendish could certainly not rest under suspicion.
“In clearing Alfred Inglethorp,” continued Poirot, “I have been obliged to show my hand sooner than I intended. As long as I might be thought to be pursuing him, the criminal would be off his guard. Now, he will be doubly careful. Yes—doubly careful.” He turned to me abruptly. “Tell me, Hastings, you yourself—have you no suspicions of anybody?”
I hesitated. To tell the truth, an idea, wild and extravagant in itself,
too good for him. Ought to be drawn and quartered, like in good old times.”
“We are at one then,” said Poirot, “for I, too, want to hang the criminal.”
“Alfred Inglethorp?”
“Him, or another.”
“No question of another. Poor Emily was never murdered until he came along. I don’t say she wasn’t surrounded