little, but my admiration and sympathy went out unfeignedly to Mary Cavendish. She ranged herself passionately on her husband’s side, scorning the mere idea of his guilt, and fought for him tooth and nail.
I expressed my admiration to Poirot, and he nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes, she is of those women who show at their best in adversity. It brings out all that is sweetest and truest in them. Her pride and her jealousy have—”
“Jealousy?” I queried.
“Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually
“I need hardly ask what you are doing here, gentlemen,” remarked Poirot.
Japp closed one eye knowingly.
“No, indeed. Pretty clear case I should say.”
But Poirot answered gravely:
“There I differ from you.”
“Oh, come!” said Summerhaye, opening his lips for the first time. “Surely the whole thing