“Here, my friends, the letter breaks off. Doubtless the writer was interrupted; but there can be no question as to his identity. We all know this handwriting and–-”
A howl that was almost a scream broke the silence.
“You devil! How did you get it?”
A chair was overturned. Poirot skipped nimbly aside. A quick movement on his part, and his assailant fell with a crash.
“Messieurs, mesdames,” said Poirot, with a flourish, “let me introduce you to the murderer, Mr. Alfred Inglethorp!”
CHAPTER XIII.
tell you this much—it was not in Miss Howard’s favour.”
I accepted his assurance, though I did not really see how he could be so positive about the matter.
“Well,” I said, with a sigh, “we will acquit Miss Howard, then. It is partly your fault that I ever came to suspect her. It was what you said