He seemed to speak, and then checked himself.
"Miss Murdoch too," I continued, "there's nothing untruthful
about _her_."
"No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping
next door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish, in the other wing of the
building, distinctly heard the table fall."
"Well, she's young. And she sleeps soundly."
"Ah, yes, indeed! She must be a famous sleeper, that one!"
I did not quite like the tone of his voice, but at that moment a
smart knock reached our ears, and looking out of the window we
perceived the two detectives waiting for us below.
Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache,
and, carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his
sleeve, motioned me to precede him down the stairs; there we
joined the detectives and set out for Styles.
I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather a
shock--especially to John, though of course after the verdict, he
had realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, the
presence of the detectives brought the truth home to him more
than anything else could have done.
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