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all.

No, John," I said, "it isn't one of us. How could it be?"

I know, but, still, who else is there?"

Can't you guess?"

No."

I looked cautiously round, and lowered my voice.

Dr. Bauerstein!" I whispered.

Impossible!"

Not at all."

But what earthly interest could he have in my mother's death?"

That I don't see," I confessed, "but I'll tell you this: Poirot thinks so."

Poirot? Does he? How do you know?"

I told him of Poirot's intense excitement on hearing that Dr. Bauerstein had

been at Styles on the fatal night, and added:

He said twice: 'That alters everything.' And I've been thinking. You know

Inglethorp said he had put down the coffee in the hall? Well, it was just then

that Bauerstein arrived. Isn't it possible that, as Inglethorp brought him

through the hall, the doctor dropped something into the coffee in passing?"

H'm," said John. "It would have been very risky."

Yes, but it was possible."

And then, how could he know it was her coffee? No, old fellow, I don't think

that will wash."

But I had remembered something else.

You're quite right. That wasn't how it was done. Listen." And I then told him

134

The Mysterious Affair at Styles