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“
By
the
police
!
”
I
gasped
.
“
Do
you
mean
they
’
ve
arrested
him
?
”
“
Yes
,
that
’
s
it
,
and
—
—
”
I
waited
to
hear
no
more
,
but
tore
up
the
village
to
find
Poirot
.
To
my
extreme
annoyance
,
Poirot
was
not
in
,
and
the
old
Belgian
who
answered
my
knock
informed
me
that
he
believed
he
had
gone
to
London
.
I
was
dumbfounded
.
What
on
earth
could
Poirot
be
doing
in
London
!
Was
it
a
sudden
decision
on
his
part
,
or
had
he
already
made
up
his
mind
when
he
parted
from
me
a
few
hours
earlier
?
I
retraced
my
steps
to
Styles
in
some
annoyance
.
With
Poirot
away
,
I
was
uncertain
how
to
act
.
Had
he
foreseen
this
arrest
?
Had
he
not
,
in
all
probability
,
been
the
cause
of
it
?
Those
questions
I
could
not
resolve
.
But
in
the
meantime
what
was
I
to
do
?
Should
I
announce
the
arrest
openly
at
Styles
,
or
not
?
Though
I
did
not
acknowledge
it
to
myself
,
the
thought
of
Mary
Cavendish
was
weighing
on
me
.
Would
it
not
be
a
terrible
shock
to
her
?
For
the
moment
,
I
set
aside
utterly
any
suspicions
of
her
.
She
could
not
be
implicated
—
otherwise
I
should
have
heard
some
hint
of
it
.
Of
course
,
there
was
no
possibility
of
being
able
permanently
to
conceal
Dr
.
Bauerstein
’
s
arrest
from
her
.
It
would
be
announced
in
every
newspaper
on
the
morrow
.
Still
,
I
shrank
from
blurting
it
out
.
If
only
Poirot
had
been
accessible
,
I
could
have
asked
his
advice
.
What
possessed
him
to
go
posting
off
to
London
in
this
unaccountable
way
?
In
spite
of
myself
,
my
opinion
of
his
sagacity
was
immeasurably
heightened
.
I
would
never
have
dreamt
of
suspecting
the
doctor
,
had
not
Poirot
put
it
into
my
head
.
Yes
,
decidedly
,
the
little
man
was
clever
.
After
some
reflecting
,
I
decided
to
take
John
into
my
confidence
,
and
leave
him
to
make
the
matter
public
or
not
,
as
he
thought
fit
.
He
gave
vent
to
a
prodigious
whistle
,
as
I
imparted
the
news
.
