"Neither do I see. I tell you, mon ami, it puzzles me. Me
--Hercule Poirot!"
"But if you believe him innocent, how do you explain his buying
the strychnine?"
"Very simply. He did _not_ buy it."
"But Mace recognized him!"
"I beg your pardon, he saw a man with a black beard like Mr.
Inglethorp's, and wearing glasses like Mr. Inglethorp, and
dressed in Mr. Inglethorp's rather noticeable clothes. He could
not recognize a man whom he had probably only seen in the
distance, since, you remember, he himself had only been in the
village a fortnight, and Mrs. Inglethorp dealt principally with
Coot's in Tadminster."
"Then you think----"
"Mon ami, do you remember the two points I laid stress upon?
Leave the first one for the moment, what was the second?"
"The important fact that Alfred Inglethorp wears peculiar
clothes, has a black beard, and uses glasses," I quoted.
"Exactly. Now suppose anyone wished to pass himself off as John
or Lawrence Cavendish. Would it be easy?"
"No," I said thoughtfully.
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