Because--because--who could have done it? Now
Inglethorp's out of the way, there's no one else; no one, I mean,
except--one of us."
Yes, indeed, that was nightmare enough for any man! One of us?
Yes, surely it must be so, unless-----
A new idea suggested itself to my mind. Rapidly, I considered
it. The light increased. Poirot's mysterious doings, his
hints--they all fitted in. Fool that I was not to have thought
of this possibility before, and what a relief for us all.
"No, John," I said, "it isn't one of us. How could it be?"
"I know, but, still, who else is there?"
"Can't you guess?"
"No."
I looked cautiously round, and lowered my voice.
"Dr. Bauerstein!" I whispered.
"Impossible!"
"Not at all."
"But what earthly interest could he have in my mother's death?"
"That I don't see," I confessed, "but I'll tell you this: Poirot
thinks so."
"Poirot? Does he? How do you know?"
I told him of Poirot's intense excitement on hearing that Dr.
Bauerstein had been at Styles on the fatal night, and added:
"He said twice: 'That alters everything.
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