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"
Yes."
I suppose you are quite sure that the latch-key was forgotten--that he did
"
not take it after all?"
"I have no idea. I never thought of looking. We always keep it in the hall
drawer. I'll go and see if it's there now."
Poirot held up his hand with a faint smile.
"No, no, Mr. Cavendish, it is too late now. I am certain that you would find
it. If Mr. Inglethorp did take it, he has had ample time to replace it by now."
"But do you think----"
"I think nothing. If anyone had chanced to look this morning before his
return, and seen it there, it would have been a valuable point in his favour.
That is all."
John looked perplexed.
"
Do not worry," said Poirot smoothly. "I assure you that you need not let it
trouble you. Since you are so kind, let us go and have some breakfast."
Every one was assembled in the dining-room. Under the circumstances, we
were naturally not a cheerful party. The reaction after a shock is always
trying, and I think we were all suffering from it. Decorum and good breeding
naturally enjoined that our demeanour should be much as usual, yet I could
not help wondering if this self-control were really a matter of great difficulty.
There were no red eyes, no signs of secretly indulged grief. I felt that I was
right in my opinion that Dorcas was the person most affected by the
personal side of the tragedy.
I pass over Alfred Inglethorp, who acted the bereaved widower in a manner
that I felt to be disgusting in its hypocrisy. Did he know that we suspected
him, I wondered. Surely he could not be unaware of the fact, conceal it as
we would. Did he feel some secret stirring of fear, or was he confident that
his crime would go unpunished? Surely the suspicion in the atmosphere
must warn him that he was already a marked man.
But did every one suspect him? What about Mrs. Cavendish? I watched her
as she sat at the head of the table, graceful, composed, enigmatic. In her
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