And now, in this house,
a murder had been committed. In front of us were "the detectives
in charge of the case." The well-known glib phraseology passed
rapidly through my mind in the interval before Poirot opened the
proceedings.
I think every one was a little surprised that it should be he and
not one of the official detectives who took the initiative.
"Mesdames and messieurs," said Poirot, bowing as though he were a
celebrity about to deliver a lecture, "I have asked you to come
here all together, for a certain object. That object, it
concerns Mr. Alfred Inglethorp."
Inglethorp was sitting a little by himself--I think,
unconsciously, every one had drawn his chair slightly away from
him--and he gave a faint start as Poirot pronounced his name.
"Mr. Inglethorp," said Poirot, addressing him directly, "a very
dark shadow is resting on this house--the shadow of murder."
Inglethorp shook his head sadly.
"My poor wife," he murmured. "Poor Emily! It is terrible."
"I do not think, monsieur," said Poirot pointedly, "that you
quite realize how terrible it may be--for you.
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