"My good Dorcas, I have an idea--a little idea--if it should
prove justified, what magnificent chance! Tell me, on Monday, not
Tuesday, Dorcas, but Monday, the day before the tragedy, did
anything go wrong with Mrs. Inglethorp's bell?"
Dorcas looked very surprised.
"Yes, sir, now you mention it, it did; though I don't know how
you came to hear of it. A mouse, or some such, must have nibbled
the wire through. The man came and put it right on Tuesday
morning."
With a long drawn exclamation of ecstasy, Poirot led the way back
to the morning-room.
"See you, one should not ask for outside proof--no, reason should
be enough. But the flesh is weak, it is consolation to find that
one is on the right track. Ah, my friend, I am like a giant
refreshed. I run! I leap!"
And, in very truth, run and leap he did, gambolling wildly down
the stretch of lawn outside the long window.
"What is your remarkable little friend doing?" asked a voice
behind me, and I turned to find Mary Cavendish at my elbow.
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