have--"

"Jealousy?" I queried.

"Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually jealous woman? As
I was saying, her pride and jealousy have been laid aside. She thinks
of nothing but her husband, and the terrible fate that is hanging over
him."

He spoke very feelingly, and I looked at him earnestly, remembering that
last afternoon, when he had been deliberating whether or not to speak.
With his tenderness for "a woman's happiness," I felt glad that the
decision had been taken out of his hands.

"Even now," I said, "I can hardly believe it. You see, up to the very
last minute, I thought it was Lawrence!"

Poirot grinned.

"I know you did."

"But John! My old friend John!"

"Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend," observed Poirot
philosophically. "You cannot mix up sentiment and reason."

"I must say I think you might have given me a hint."

"Perhaps, mon ami, I did not do so, just because he _was_ your old
friend."

I was rather disconcerted by this, remembering how I had busily passed
on to John what I believed to be Poirot's views concerning Bauerstein.
He, by the way, had been acquitted of the charge brought against him.
Nevertheless, although he had been too clever for them this time, and
the charge of espionage could not be brought home to him, his wings were
pretty well clipped for the future.

I asked Poirot whether he thought John would be condemned. To my intense
surprise, he replied that, on the contrary, he was extremely likely to
be acquitted.

"But, Poirot--" I protested.

"Oh, my friend, have I not said to you all along that I have no proofs.
It is one thing to know that a man is guilty, it is quite another matter
to prove him so. And, in this case, there is terribly little evidence.
That is the whole trouble. I, Hercule Poirot, know, but I lack the last
link in my chain. And unless I can find that missing link--" He shook
his head gravely.

"When did you first suspect John Cavendish?" I asked, after a minute or
two.

"Did you not suspect him at all?"

"No, indeed."

"Not after that fragment of conversation you overheard between Mrs.
Cavendish and her mother-in-law, and her subsequent lack of frankness at
the inquest?"

"No."

"Did you not put two and two together, and reflect that if it was not
Alfred Inglethorp who was quarrelling with his wife--and you remember,
he strenuously denied it at the inquest--it must be either Lawrence
or John. Now, if it was Lawr