“No, no,” he gasped. “It is—it is—that I have an idea!”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, much relieved. “One of your ‘little ideas’?”
“Ah, ma foi, no!” replied Poirot frankly. “This time it is an idea gigantic! Stupendous! And you—you, my friend, have given it to me!”
Suddenly clasping me in his arms, he kissed me warmly on both cheeks, and before I had recovered from my surprise ran headlong from the room.
Mary Cavendish entered at that moment.
“What is the matter with Monsieur Poirot? He rushed past me
A little gasp ran round the circle at this plain speaking.
“Good heavens!” cried Inglethorp, starting up. “What a monstrous idea! I—poison my dearest Emily!”
“I do not think”—Poirot watched him narrowly—“that you quite realize the unfavourable nature of your evidence at the inquest. Mr. Inglethorp,