“Why, she was devoted to her!” I exclaimed.
“Tcha! Tcha!” cried Poirot irritably. “You argue like a child. If Miss Howard were capable of poisoning the old lady, she would be quite equally capable of simulating devotion. No, we must look elsewhere. You are perfectly correct in your assumption that her vehemence against Alfred Inglethorp is too violent to be natural; but you are quite wrong in the deduction you draw from it. I have drawn my own deductions, which I believe to be correct, but I will
Poirot nodded sympathetically.
“I understand, mademoiselle, I understand all you feel. It is most natural. You think that we are lukewarm—that we lack fire and energy—but trust me, it is not so.”
John stuck his head in at this juncture, and invited us both to come up to Mrs. Inglethorp’s room, as