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"Mon ami," replied Poirot gravely, "when you find that people are not telling
you the truth--look out! Now, unless I am much mistaken, at the inquest to-
day only one--at most, two persons were speaking the truth without
reservation or subterfuge."
"Oh, come now, Poirot! I won't cite Lawrence, or Mrs. Cavendish. But there's
John--and Miss Howard, surely they were speaking the truth?"
"Both of them, my friend? One, I grant you, but both----!"
His words gave me an unpleasant shock. Miss Howard's evidence,
unimportant as it was, had been given in such a downright straightforward
manner that it had never occurred to me to doubt her sincerity. Still, I had a
great respect for Poirot's sagacity--except on the occasions when he was
what I described to myself as "foolishly pig-headed."
"Do you really think so?" I asked. "Miss Howard had always seemed to me so
essentially honest--almost uncomfortably so."
Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom. He seemed to
speak, and then checked himself.
"Miss Murdoch too," I continued, "there's nothing untruthful about her."
"
No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping next door;
whereas Mrs. Cavendish, in the other wing of the building, distinctly heard
the table fall."
"
"
Well, she's young. And she sleeps soundly."
Ah, yes, indeed! She must be a famous sleeper, that one!"
I did not quite like the tone of his voice, but at that moment a smart knock
reached our ears, and looking out of the window we perceived the two
detectives waiting for us below.
Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache, and, carefully
brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, motioned me to
precede him down the stairs; there we joined the detectives and set out for
Styles.
105
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