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“
So
beautiful
,
so
beautiful
,
and
yet
,
the
poor
family
,
plunged
in
sorrow
,
prostrated
with
grief
.
”
He
looked
at
me
keenly
as
he
spoke
,
and
I
was
aware
that
I
reddened
under
his
prolonged
gaze
.
Was
the
family
prostrated
by
grief
?
Was
the
sorrow
at
Mrs
.
Inglethorp
’
s
death
so
great
?
I
realized
that
there
was
an
emotional
lack
in
the
atmosphere
.
The
dead
woman
had
not
the
gift
of
commanding
love
.
Her
death
was
a
shock
and
a
distress
,
but
she
would
not
be
passionately
regretted
.
Poirot
seemed
to
follow
my
thoughts
.
He
nodded
his
head
gravely
.
“
No
,
you
are
right
,
”
he
said
,
“
it
is
not
as
though
there
was
a
blood
tie
.
She
has
been
kind
and
generous
to
these
Cavendishes
,
but
she
was
not
their
own
mother
.
Blood
tells
—
always
remember
that
—
blood
tells
.
”
“
Poirot
,
”
I
said
,
“
I
wish
you
would
tell
me
why
you
wanted
to
know
if
Mrs
.
Inglethorp
ate
well
last
night
?
I
have
been
turning
it
over
in
my
mind
,
but
I
can
’
t
see
how
it
has
anything
to
do
with
the
matter
?
”
He
was
silent
for
a
minute
or
two
as
we
walked
along
,
but
finally
he
said
:
“
I
do
not
mind
telling
you
—
though
,
as
you
know
,
it
is
not
my
habit
to
explain
until
the
end
is
reached
.
The
present
contention
is
that
Mrs
.
Inglethorp
died
of
strychnine
poisoning
,
presumably
administered
in
her
coffee
.
”
“
Yes
?
”
