It is one thing to know that a man is guilty, it is
quite another matter to prove him so. And, in this case, there
is terribly little evidence. That is the whole trouble. I,
Hercule Poirot, know, but I lack the last link in my chain. And
unless I can find that missing link--" He shook his head gravely.
"When did you first suspect John Cavendish?" I asked, after a
minute or two.
"Did you not suspect him at all?"
"No, indeed."
"Not after that fragment of conversation you overheard between
Mrs. Cavendish and her mother-in-law, and her subsequent lack of
frankness at the inquest?"
"No."
"Did you not put two and two together, and reflect that if it was
not Alfred Inglethorp who was quarrelling with his wife--and you
remember, he strenuously denied it at the inquest--it must be
either Lawrence or John. Now, if it was Lawrence, Mary
Cavendish's conduct was just as inexplicable. But if, on the
other hand, it was John, the whole thing was explained quite
naturally."
"So," I cried, a light breaking in upon me, "it was John who
quarrelled with his mother that afternoon?"
"Exactly.
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