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CHAPTER XIII. POIROT EXPLAINS

Poirot, you old villain," I said, "I've half a mind to strangle you! What do

you mean by deceiving me as you have done?"

We were sitting in the library. Several hectic days lay behind us. In the room

below, John and Mary were together once more, while Alfred Inglethorp and

Miss Howard were in custody. Now at last, I had Poirot to myself, and could

relieve my still burning curiosity.

Poirot did not answer me for a moment, but at last he said:

"I did not deceive you, mon ami. At most, I permitted you to deceive

yourself."

Yes, but why?"

Well, it is difficult to explain. You see, my friend, you have a nature so

honest, and a countenance so transparent, that--enfin, to conceal your

feelings is impossible! If I had told you my ideas, the very first time you saw

Mr. Alfred Inglethorp that astute gentleman would have--in your so

expressive idiom--'smelt a rat'! And then, bon jour to our chances of

catching him!"

I think that I have more diplomacy than you give me credit for."

My friend," besought Poirot, "I implore you, do not enrage yourself! Your

help has been of the most invaluable. It is but the extremely beautiful

nature that you have, which made me pause."

Well," I grumbled, a little mollified. "I still think you might have given me a

hint."

"But I did, my friend. Several hints. You would not take them. Think now,

did I ever say to you that I believed John Cavendish guilty? Did I not, on the

contrary, tell you that he would almost certainly be acquitted?"

"Yes, but----"

"And did I not immediately afterwards speak of the difficulty of bringing the

murderer to justice? Was it not plain to you that I was speaking of two

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The Mysterious Affair at Styles