"
"Yes. It may turn out to be a piece of one of Mrs. Inglethorp's
own dresses, and quite unimportant. We shall see. Five, _this_!"
With a dramatic gesture, he pointed to a large splash of candle
grease on the floor by the writing-table. "It must have been
done since yesterday, otherwise a good housemaid would have at
once removed it with blotting-paper and a hot iron. One of my
best hats once--but that is not to the point."
"It was very likely done last night. We were very agitated. Or
perhaps Mrs. Inglethorp herself dropped her candle."
"You brought only one candle into the room?"
"Yes. Lawrence Cavendish was carrying it. But he was very
upset. He seemed to see something over here"--I indicated the
mantelpiece--"that absolutely paralysed him."
"That is interesting," said Poirot quickly. "Yes, it is
suggestive"--his eye sweeping the whole length of the wall--"but
it was not his candle that made this great patch, for you
perceive that this is white grease; whereas Monsieur Lawrence's
candle, which is still on the dressing-table, is pink.
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