We acquiesced and followed him out of the room. John strode on
ahead and I took the opportunity of whispering to Poirot:
"There will be an inquest then?"
Poirot nodded absently. He seemed absorbed in thought; so much
so that my curiosity was aroused.
"What is it? You are not attending to what I say."
"It is true, my friend. I am much worried."
"Why?"
"Because Mademoiselle Cynthia does not take sugar in her coffee."
"What? You cannot be serious?"
"But I am most serious. Ah, there is something there that I do
not understand. My instinct was right."
"What instinct?"
"The instinct that led me to insist on examining those
coffee-cups. Chut! no more now!"
We followed John into his study, and he closed the door behind
us.
Mr. Wells was a pleasant man of middle-age, with keen eyes, and
the typical lawyer's mouth. John introduced us both, and
explained the reason of our presence.
"You will understand, Wells," he added, "that this is all
strictly private. We are still hoping that there will turn out
to be no need for investigation of any kind."
"Quite so, quite so," said Mr. Wells soothingly. "I wish we
could have spared you the pain and publicity of an inquest, but
of course it's quite unavoidable in the absence of a doctor's
certificate."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Clever man, Bauerstein. Great authority on toxicology, I
believe."
"Indeed," said John with a certain stiffness in his manner. Then
he added rather hesitatingly: "Shall we have to appear as
witnesses--all of us, I mean?"
"You, of course--and ah--er--Mr.--er--Inglethorp."
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