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"Oh, of course--that goes without saying."
We had walked, as we talked, and now we passed through the little gate into
the garden. Voices rose near at hand, for tea was spread out under the
sycamore-tree, as it had been on the day of my arrival.
Cynthia was back from the hospital, and I placed my chair beside her, and
told her of Poirot's wish to visit the dispensary.
"
Of course! I'd love him to see it. He'd better come to tea there one day. I
must fix it up with him. He's such a dear little man! But he is funny. He
made me take the brooch out of my tie the other day, and put it in again,
because he said it wasn't straight."
I laughed.
"
It's quite a mania with him."
Yes, isn't it?"
"
We were silent for a minute or two, and then, glancing in the direction of
Mary Cavendish, and dropping her voice, Cynthia said:
"
"
"
Mr. Hastings."
Yes?"
After tea, I want to talk to you."
Her glance at Mary had set me thinking. I fancied that between these two
there existed very little sympathy. For the first time, it occurred to me to
wonder about the girl's future. Mrs. Inglethorp had made no provisions of
any kind for her, but I imagined that John and Mary would probably insist
on her making her home with them--at any rate until the end of the war.
John, I knew, was very fond of her, and would be sorry to let her go.
John, who had gone into the house, now reappeared. His good-natured face
wore an unaccustomed frown of anger.
"Confound those detectives! I can't think what they're after! They've been in
every room in the house--turning things inside out, and upside down. It
really is too bad! I suppose they took advantage of our all being out. I shall
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