"Certainly. What is it?"

"Next time you happen to be alone with Lawrence Cavendish, I want you to
say this to him. 'I have a message for you, from Poirot. He says:
"Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace!"' Nothing more.
Nothing less."

"'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Is that
right?" I asked, much mystified.

"Excellent."

"But what does it mean?"

"Ah, that I will leave you to find out. You have access to the facts.
Just say that to him, and see what he says."

"Very well--but it's all extremely mysterious."

We were running into Tadminster now, and Poirot directed the car to the
"Analytical Chemist."

Poirot hopped down briskly, and went inside. In a few minutes he was
back again.

"There," he said. "That is all my business."

"What were you doing there?" I asked, in lively curiosity.

"I left something to be analysed."

"Yes, but what?"

"The sample of coco I took from the saucepan in the bedroom."

"But that has already been tested!" I cried, stupefied. "Dr. Bauerstein
had it tested, and you yourself laughed at the possibility of there
being strychnine in it."

"I know Dr. Bauerstein had it tested," replied Poirot quietly.

"Well, then?"

"Well, I have a fancy for having it analysed again, that is all."

And not another word on the subject could I drag out of him.

This proceeding of Poirot's, in respect of the coco, puzzled me
intensely. I could see neither rhyme nor reason in it. However, my
confidence in him, which at one time had rather waned, was fully
restored since his belief in Alfred Inglethorp's innocence had been so
triumphantly vindicated.

The funeral of Mrs. Inglethorp took place the following day, and on
Monday, as I came down to a late breakfast, John drew me aside, and
informed me that Mr. Inglethorp was leaving that morning, to take up his
quarters at the Stylites Arms until he should have completed his plans.

"And really it's a great relief to think he's going, Hastings,"
continued my honest friend. "It was bad enough before, when we thought
he'd done it, but I'm hanged if it isn't worse now, when we all feel
guilty for having been so down on the fellow. The fact is, we've treated
him abominably. Of course, things did look black against him. I don't
see how anyone could blame us for jumping to the conclusions we did.
Still, there it is, we were in the wrong, and now there's a beastly
feeling that one ought to make amends; which