en opened by Mrs.
Inglethorp herself?"

"There is another possibility. She may have forgotten to bolt the door
into the passage when she went to bed, and have got up later, towards
morning, and bolted it then."

"Poirot, is that seriously your opinion?"

"No, I do not say it is so, but it might be. Now, to turn to another
feature, what do you make of the scrap of conversation you overheard
between Mrs. Cavendish and her mother-in-law?"

"I had forgotten that," I said thoughtfully. "That is as enigmatical as
ever. It seems incredible that a woman like Mrs. Cavendish, proud and
reticent to the last degree, should interfere so violently in what was
certainly not her affair."

"Precisely. It was an astonishing thing for a woman of her breeding to
do."

"It is certainly curious," I agreed. "Still, it is unimportant, and need
not be taken into account."

A groan burst from Poirot.

"What have I always told you? Everything must be taken into account. If
the fact will not fit the theory--let the theory go."

"Well, we shall see," I said, nettled.

"Yes, we shall see."

We had reached Leastways Cottage, and Poirot ushered me upstairs to his
own room. He offered me one of the tiny Russian cigarettes he himself
occasionally smoked. I was amused to notice that he stowed away the used
matches most carefully in a little china pot. My momentary annoyance
vanished.

Poirot had placed our two chairs in front of the open window which
commanded a view of the village street. The fresh air blew in warm and
pleasant. It was going to be a hot day.

Suddenly my attention was arrested by a weedy looking young man rushing
down the street at a great pace. It was the expression on his face that
was extraordinary--a curious mingling of terror and agitation.

"Look, Poirot!" I said.

He leant forward.

"Tiens!" he said. "It is Mr. Mace, from the chemist's shop. He is coming
here."

The young man came to a halt before Leastways Cottage, and, after
hesitating a moment, pounded vigorously at the door.

"A little minute," cried Poirot from the window. "I come."

Motioning to me to follow him, he ran swiftly down the stairs and opened
the door. Mr. Mace began at once.

"Oh, Mr. Poirot, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I heard that you'd
just come back from the Hall?"

"Yes, we have."

The young man moistened his dry lips. His face was working curiously.

"It's all over the village about old Mrs. Inglethorp dying so sud