"
"So Dorcas knows nothing about that black beard," said Poirot
thoughtfully, as we walked out into the hall again.
"Do you think it is _the_ one?" I whispered eagerly.
Poirot nodded.
"I do. You notice it had been trimmed?"
"No."
"Yes. It was cut exactly the shape of Mr. Inglethorp's, and I
found one or two snipped hairs. Hastings, this affair is very
deep."
"Who put it in the chest, I wonder?"
"Some one with a good deal of intelligence," remarked Poirot
dryly. "You realize that he chose the one place in the house to
hide it where its presence would not be remarked? Yes, he is
intelligent. But we must be more intelligent. We must be so
intelligent that he does not suspect us of being intelligent at
all."
I acquiesced.
"There, mon ami, you will be of great assistance to me."
I was pleased with the compliment. There had been times when I
hardly thought that Poirot appreciated me at my true worth.
"Yes," he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, "you will be
invaluable."
This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot's next words were not
so welcome.
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