now in my hands."

Amid breathless excitement, he held out three thin strips of paper.

"A letter in the murderer's own hand-writing, mes amis! Had it been a
little clearer in its terms, it is possible that Mrs. Inglethorp, warned
in time, would have escaped. As it was, she realized her danger, but not
the manner of it."

In the deathly silence, Poirot pieced together the slips of paper and,
clearing his throat, read:

"'Dearest Evelyn:

'You will be anxious at hearing nothing. It is all right--only it will
be to-night instead of last night. You understand. There's a good
time coming once the old woman is dead and out of the way. No one
can possibly bring home the crime to me. That idea of yours about the
bromides was a stroke of genius! But we must be very circumspect. A
false step----'

"Here, my friends, the letter breaks off. Doubtless the writer was
interrupted; but there can be no question as to his identity. We all
know this hand-writing and----"

A howl that was almost a scream broke the silence.

"You devil! How did you get it?"

A chair was overturned. Poirot skipped nimbly aside. A quick movement on
his part, and his assailant fell with a crash.

"Messieurs, mesdames," said Poirot, with a flourish, "let me introduce
you to the murderer, Mr. Alfred Inglethorp!"

CHAPTER XIII. POIROT EXPLAINS

"Poirot, you old villain," I said, "I've half a mind to strangle you!
What do you mean by deceiving me as you have done?"

We were sitting in the library. Several hectic days lay behind us. In
the room below, John and Mary were together once more, while Alfred
Inglethorp and Miss Howard were in custody. Now at last, I had Poirot to
myself, and could relieve my still burning curiosity.

Poirot did not answer me for a moment, but at last he said:

"I did not deceive you, mon ami. At most, I permitted you to deceive
yourself."

"Yes, but why?"

"Well, it is difficult to explain. You see, my friend, you have a nature
so honest, and a countenance so transparent, that--enfin, to conceal
your feelings is impossible! If I had told you my ideas, the very first
time you saw Mr. Alfred Inglethorp that astute gentleman would have--in
your so expressive idiom--'smelt a rat'! And then, bon jour to our
chances of catching him!"

"I think that I have more diplomacy than you give me credit for."

"My friend," besought Poirot, "I implore you, do not enrage yourself!
Your help has been of the most invaluable.