denly.
They do say--" he lowered his voice cautiously--"that it's poison?"

Poirot's face remained quite impassive.

"Only the doctors can tell us that, Mr. Mace."

"Yes, exactly--of course----" The young man hesitated, and then his
agitation was too much for him. He clutched Poirot by the arm, and sank
his voice to a whisper: "Just tell me this, Mr. Poirot, it isn't--it
isn't strychnine, is it?"

I hardly heard what Poirot replied. Something evidently of a
non-committal nature. The young man departed, and as he closed the door
Poirot's eyes met mine.

"Yes," he said, nodding gravely. "He will have evidence to give at the
inquest."

We went slowly upstairs again. I was opening my lips, when Poirot
stopped me with a gesture of his hand.

"Not now, not now, mon ami. I have need of reflection. My mind is in
some disorder--which is not well."

For about ten minutes he sat in dead silence, perfectly still, except
for several expressive motions of his eyebrows, and all the time his
eyes grew steadily greener. At last he heaved a deep sigh.

"It is well. The bad moment has passed. Now all is arranged and
classified. One must never permit confusion. The case is not clear
yet--no. For it is of the most complicated! It puzzles _me_. _Me_,
Hercule Poirot! There are two facts of significance."

"And what are they?"

"The first is the state of the weather yesterday. That is very
important."

"But it was a glorious day!" I interrupted. "Poirot, you're pulling my
leg!"

"Not at all. The thermometer registered 80 degrees in the shade. Do not
forget that, my friend. It is the key to the whole riddle!"

"And the second point?" I asked.

"The important fact that Monsieur Inglethorp wears very peculiar
clothes, has a black beard, and uses glasses."

"Poirot, I cannot believe you are serious."

"I am absolutely serious, my friend."

"But this is childish!"

"No, it is very momentous."

"And supposing the Coroner's jury returns a verdict of Wilful Murder
against Alfred Inglethorp. What becomes of your theories, then?"

"They would not be shaken because twelve stupid men had happened to make
a mistake! But that will not occur. For one thing, a country jury is not
anxious to take responsibility upon itself, and Mr. Inglethorp stands
practically in the position of local squire. Also," he added placidly,
"I should not allow it!"

"_You_ would not allow it?"

"No."

I looked at the extraordinary little man, divid