ry new and bright, which led me to the
hypothesis that somebody else had inserted the original key in the lock
of the despatch-case."

"Yes," I said, "Alfred Inglethorp, without doubt."

Poirot looked at me curiously.

"You are very sure of his guilt?"

"Well, naturally. Every fresh circumstance seems to establish it more
clearly."

"On the contrary," said Poirot quietly, "there are several points in his
favour."

"Oh, come now!"

"Yes."

"I see only one."

"And that?"

"That he was not in the house last night."

"'Bad shot!' as you English say! You have chosen the one point that to
my mind tells against him."

"How is that?"

"Because if Mr. Inglethorp knew that his wife would be poisoned last
night, he would certainly have arranged to be away from the house.
His excuse was an obviously trumped up one. That leaves us two
possibilities: either he knew what was going to happen or he had a
reason of his own for his absence."

"And that reason?" I asked sceptically.

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

"How should I know? Discreditable, without doubt. This Mr. Inglethorp,
I should say, is somewhat of a scoundrel--but that does not of necessity
make him a murderer."

I shook my head, unconvinced.

"We do not agree, eh?" said Poirot. "Well, let us leave it. Time will
show which of us is right. Now let us turn to other aspects of the case.
What do you make of the fact that all the doors of the bedroom were
bolted on the inside?"

"Well----" I considered. "One must look at it logically."

"True."

"I should put it this way. The doors _were_ bolted--our own eyes have
told us that--yet the presence of the candle grease on the floor,
and the destruction of the will, prove that during the night some one
entered the room. You agree so far?"

"Perfectly. Put with admirable clearness. Proceed."

"Well," I said, encouraged, "as the person who entered did not do so by
the window, nor by miraculous means, it follows that the door must have
been opened from inside by Mrs. Inglethorp herself. That strengthens
the conviction that the person in question was her husband. She would
naturally open the door to her own husband."

Poirot shook his head.

"Why should she? She had bolted the door leading into his room--a most
unusual proceeding on her part--she had had a most violent quarrel with
him that very afternoon. No, he was the last person she would admit."

"But you agree with me that the door must have be