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CHAPTER XI. THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION
The trial of John Cavendish for the murder of his stepmother took place two
months later.
Of the intervening weeks I will say little, but my admiration and sympathy
went out unfeignedly to Mary Cavendish. She ranged herself passionately on
her husband's side, scorning the mere idea of his guilt, and fought for him
tooth and nail.
I expressed my admiration to Poirot, and he nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes, she is of those women who show at their best in adversity. It brings
out all that is sweetest and truest in them. Her pride and her jealousy have-
-"
"Jealousy?" I queried.
"Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually jealous woman? As I
was saying, her pride and jealousy have been laid aside. She thinks of
nothing but her husband, and the terrible fate that is hanging over him."
He spoke very feelingly, and I looked at him earnestly, remembering that last
afternoon, when he had been deliberating whether or not to speak. With his
tenderness for "a woman's happiness," I felt glad that the decision had been
taken out of his hands.
"Even now," I said, "I can hardly believe it. You see, up to the very last
minute, I thought it was Lawrence!"
Poirot grinned.
"
"
"
I know you did."
But John! My old friend John!"
Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend," observed Poirot
philosophically. "You cannot mix up sentiment and reason."
"
I must say I think you might have given me a hint."
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