“Not when the servant Dorcas repeated certain fragments of the conversation—fragments which you must have recognized?”
“I did not recognize them.”
“Your memory must be unusually short!”
“No, but we were both angry, and, I think, said more than we meant. I paid very little attention to my mother’s actual words.”
Mr. Philips’ incredulous sniff was a triumph of forensic skill. He passed on to the subject of the note.
“You have produced this note very opportunely. Tell me, is there nothing familiar about the handwriting of it?”
not sanguine. Poirot might have excellent reasons for his belief in Inglethorp’s innocence, but a man of the type of Summerhaye would require tangible proofs, and these I doubted if Poirot could supply.
Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, the door of which Japp closed. Poirot