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He then made a very careful examination of the drawers of the wash-stand.
Crossing the room to the left-hand window, a round stain, hardly visible on
the dark brown carpet, seemed to interest him particularly. He went down
on his knees, examining it minutely--even going so far as to smell it.
Finally, he poured a few drops of the coco into a test tube, sealing it up
carefully. His next proceeding was to take out a little notebook.
"We have found in this room," he said, writing busily, "six points of interest.
Shall I enumerate them, or will you?"
"Oh, you," I replied hastily.
"
Very well, then. One, a coffee-cup that has been ground into powder; two, a
despatch-case with a key in the lock; three, a stain on the floor."
"That may have been done some time ago," I interrupted.
"No, for it is still perceptibly damp and smells of coffee. Four, a fragment of
some dark green fabric--only a thread or two, but recognizable."
"
Ah!" I cried. "That was what you sealed up in the envelope."
"Yes. It may turn out to be a piece of one of Mrs. Inglethorp's own dresses,
and quite unimportant. We shall see. Five, this!" With a dramatic gesture, he
pointed to a large splash of candle grease on the floor by the writing-table.
"It must have been done since yesterday, otherwise a good housemaid would
have at once removed it with blotting-paper and a hot iron. One of my best
hats once--but that is not to the point."
"
It was very likely done last night. We were very agitated. Or perhaps Mrs.
Inglethorp herself dropped her candle."
"You brought only one candle into the room?"
"
Yes. Lawrence Cavendish was carrying it. But he was very upset. He
seemed to see something over here"--I indicated the mantelpiece--"that
absolutely paralysed him."
"That is interesting," said Poirot quickly. "Yes, it is suggestive"--his eye
sweeping the whole length of the wall--"but it was not his candle that made
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