it into his head. But, like all specialists, Bauerstein’s got a bee in his bonnet. Poisons are his hobby, so of course he sees them everywhere.”
I confess that I was surprised by Lawrence’s attitude. He was so seldom vehement about anything.
John hesitated.
“I can’t feel as you do, Lawrence,” he said at last. “I’m inclined to give Hastings a free hand, though I should prefer to wait a bit. We don’t want any unnecessary scandal.”
“No, no,” I cried eagerly, “you need have no fear of that. Poirot is discretion itself.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Poirot seriously. “I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. It is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here.” Then, as I looked at him inquiringly: “Yes, my friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land.