"H'm! There are other explanations besides that of imbecility," I
remarked. "For, if the case against him is true, how could he
defend himself except by silence?"

"Why, in a thousand ingenious ways," cried Poirot. "See; say
that it is I who have committed this murder, I can think of seven
most plausible stories! Far more convincing than Mr. Inglethorp's
stony denials!"

I could not help laughing.

"My dear Poirot, I am sure you are capable of thinking of
seventy! But, seriously, in spite of what I heard you say to the
detectives, you surely cannot still believe in the possibility of
Alfred Inglethorp's innocence?"

"Why not now as much as before? Nothing has changed."

"But the evidence is so conclusive."

"Yes, too conclusive."

We turned in at the gate of Leastways Cottage, and proceeded up
the now familiar stairs.

"Yes, yes, too conclusive," continued Poirot, almost to himself.
"Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be
examined--sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried.
No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly