This proceeding of Poirot's, in respect of the coco, puzzled me
intensely. I could see neither rhyme nor reason in it. However,
my confidence in him, which at one time had rather waned, was
fully restored since his belief in Alfred Inglethorp's innocence
had been so triumphantly vindicated.
The funeral of Mrs. Inglethorp took place the following day, and
on Monday, as I came down to a late breakfast, John drew me
aside, and informed me that Mr. Inglethorp was leaving that
morning, to take up his quarters at the Stylites Arms until he
should have completed his plans.
"And really it's a great relief to think he's going, Hastings,"
continued my honest friend. "It was bad enough before, when we
thought he'd done it, but I'm hanged if it isn't worse now, when
we all feel guilty for having been so down on the fellow. The
fact is, we've treated him abominably. Of course, things did
look black against him. I don't see how anyone could blame us
for jumping to the conclusions we did. Still, there it is, we
were in the wrong, and now there's a beastly feeling that one
ought to make amends; which is difficult, when one doesn't like
the fellow a bit better than one did before.
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