Bauerstein."
"Any more faults to find with the evidence?" I inquired
satirically.
"Mon ami," replied Poirot gravely, "when you find that people are
not telling you the truth--look out! Now, unless I am much
mistaken, at the inquest to-day only one--at most, two persons
were speaking the truth without reservation or subterfuge."
"Oh, come now, Poirot! I won't cite Lawrence, or Mrs. Cavendish.
But there's John--and Miss Howard, surely they were speaking the
truth?"
"Both of them, my friend? One, I grant you, but both----!"
His words gave me an unpleasant shock. Miss Howard's evidence,
unimportant as it was, had been given in such a downright
straightforward manner that it had never occurred to me to doubt
her sincerity. Still, I had a great respect for Poirot's
sagacity--except on the occasions when he was what I described to
myself as "foolishly pig-headed."
"Do you really think so?" I asked. "Miss Howard had always
seemed to me so essentially honest--almost uncomfortably so."
Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom.
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