d. "Miss Howard had always seemed to me
so essentially honest--almost uncomfortably so."

Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom. He seemed
to speak, and then checked himself.

"Miss Murdoch too," I continued, "there's nothing untruthful about
_her_."

"No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping next
door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish, in the other wing of the building,
distinctly heard the table fall."

"Well, she's young. And she sleeps soundly."

"Ah, yes, indeed! She must be a famous sleeper, that one!"

I did not quite like the tone of his voice, but at that moment a smart
knock reached our ears, and looking out of the window we perceived the
two detectives waiting for us below.

Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache, and,
carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, motioned
me to precede him down the stairs; there we joined the detectives and
set out for Styles.

I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather a
shock--especially to John, though of course after the verdict, he had
realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, the presence of the
detectives brought the truth home to him more than anything else could
have done.

Poirot had conferred with Japp in a low tone on the way up, and it
was the latter functionary who requested that the household, with
the exception of the servants, should be assembled together in the
drawing-room. I realized the significance of this. It was up to Poirot
to make his boast good.

Personally, I was not sanguine. Poirot might have excellent reasons
for his belief in Inglethorp's innocence, but a man of the type of
Summerhaye would require tangible proofs, and these I doubted if Poirot
could supply.

Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, the door
of which Japp closed. Poirot politely set chairs for every one. The
Scotland Yard men were the cynosure of all eyes. I think that for
the first time we realized that the thing was not a bad dream, but a
tangible reality. We had read of such things--now we ourselves were
actors in the drama. To-morrow the daily papers, all over England, would
blazon out the news in staring headlines:

"MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY IN ESSEX"

"WEALTHY LADY POISONED"

There would be pictures of Styles, snap-shots of "The family leaving
the Inquest"--the village photographer had not been idle! All the things
t