house. His excuse was an obviously trumped up one. That leaves
us two possibilities: either he knew what was going to happen or
he had a reason of his own for his absence."

"And that reason?" I asked sceptically.

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

"How should I know? Discreditable, without doubt. This Mr.
Inglethorp, I should say, is somewhat of a scoundrel--but that
does not of necessity make him a murderer."

I shook my head, unconvinced.

"We do not agree, eh?" said Poirot. "Well, let us leave it.
Time will show which of us is right. Now let us turn to other
aspects of the case. What do you make of the fact that all the
doors of the bedroom were bolted on the inside?"

"Well----" I considered. "One must look at it logically."

"True."

"I should put it this way. The doors _were_ bolted--our own eyes
have told us that--yet the presence of the candle grease on the
floor, and the destruction of the will, prove that during the
night some one entered the room. You agree so far?"

"Perfectly. Put with admirable clearness. Proceed."