"Do you mean to say," I asked, slowly adapting myself to the new
idea, "that Dr. Bauerstein is a spy?"
Poirot nodded.
"Have you never suspected it?"
"It never entered my head."
"It did not strike you as peculiar that a famous London doctor
should bury himself in a little village like this, and should be
in the habit of walking about at all hours of the night, fully
dressed?"
"No," I confessed, "I never thought of such a thing."
"He is, of course, a German by birth," said Poirot thoughtfully,
"though he has practiced so long in this country that nobody
thinks of him as anything but an Englishman. He was naturalized
about fifteen years ago. A very clever man--a Jew, of course."
"The blackguard!" I cried indignantly.
"Not at all. He is, on the contrary, a patriot. Think what he
stands to lose. I admire the man myself."
But I could not look at it in Poirot's philosophical way.
"And this is the man with whom Mrs. Cavendish has been wandering
about all over the country!" I cried indignantly.
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