to her aid. She happened to pick up the key of Mrs. Inglethorp’s despatch-case, which had been lost that morning. She knew that her mother-in-law invariably kept all important papers in this particular case.
“Mrs. Cavendish, therefore, made her plans as only a woman driven desperate through jealousy could have done. Some time in the evening she unbolted the door leading into Mademoiselle Cynthia’s room. Possibly she applied oil to the hinges, for I found that it opened quite noiselessly when I
Poirot,” I remarked resignedly, “perhaps you will tell me what all this is about?”
“Well, mon ami, a good deal you can guess for yourself. Of course you realize that, now Mr. Inglethorp is out of it, the whole position is greatly changed. We are face to face with an entirely new problem. We know now