hat one had read a hundred times--things that happen to other people,
not to oneself. And now, in this house, a murder had been committed. In
front of us were "the detectives in charge of the case." The well-known
glib phraseology passed rapidly through my mind in the interval before
Poirot opened the proceedings.

I think every one was a little surprised that it should be he and not
one of the official detectives who took the initiative.

"Mesdames and messieurs," said Poirot, bowing as though he were a
celebrity about to deliver a lecture, "I have asked you to come here
all together, for a certain object. That object, it concerns Mr. Alfred
Inglethorp."

Inglethorp was sitting a little by himself--I think, unconsciously,
every one had drawn his chair slightly away from him--and he gave a
faint start as Poirot pronounced his name.

"Mr. Inglethorp," said Poirot, addressing him directly, "a very dark
shadow is resting on this house--the shadow of murder."

Inglethorp shook his head sadly.

"My poor wife," he murmured. "Poor Emily! It is terrible."

"I do not think, monsieur," said Poirot pointedly, "that you quite
realize how terrible it may be--for you." And as Inglethorp did not
appear to understand, he added: "Mr. Inglethorp, you are standing in
very grave danger."

The two detectives fidgeted. I saw the official caution "Anything
you say will be used in evidence against you," actually hovering on
Summerhaye's lips. Poirot went on.

"Do you understand now, monsieur?"

"No; What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Poirot deliberately, "that you are suspected of poisoning
your wife."

A little gasp ran round the circle at this plain speaking.

"Good heavens!" cried Inglethorp, starting up. "What a monstrous idea!
_I_--poison my dearest Emily!"

"I do not think"--Poirot watched him narrowly--"that you quite realize
the unfavourable nature of your evidence at the inquest. Mr. Inglethorp,
knowing what I have now told you, do you still refuse to say where you
were at six o'clock on Monday afternoon?"

With a groan, Alfred Inglethorp sank down again and buried his face in
his hands. Poirot approached and stood over him.

"Speak!" he cried menacingly.

With an effort, Inglethorp raised his face from his hands. Then, slowly
and deliberately, he shook his head.

"You will not speak?"

"No. I do not believe that anyone could be so monstrous as to accuse me
of what you say."

Poirot nodded thoughtfully, like