"
Amid breathless excitement, he held out three thin strips of
paper.
"A letter in the murderer's own hand-writing, mes amis! Had it
been a little clearer in its terms, it is possible that Mrs.
Inglethorp, warned in time, would have escaped. As it was, she
realized her danger, but not the manner of it."
In the deathly silence, Poirot pieced together the slips of paper
and, clearing his throat, read:
"'Dearest Evelyn:
'You will be anxious at hearing nothing. It is all right--only
it will be to-night instead of last night. You understand.
There's a good time coming once the old woman is dead and out of
the way. No one can possibly bring home the crime to me. That
idea of yours about the bromides was a stroke of genius! But we
must be very circumspect. A false step----'
"Here, my friends, the letter breaks off. Doubtless the writer
was interrupted; but there can be no question as to his identity.
We all know this hand-writing and----"
A howl that was almost a scream broke the silence.
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