Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache,
and, carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his
sleeve, motioned me to precede him down the stairs; there we
joined the detectives and set out for Styles.

I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather a
shock--especially to John, though of course after the verdict, he
had realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, the
presence of the detectives brought the truth home to him more
than anything else could have done.

Poirot had conferred with Japp in a low tone on the way up, and
it was the latter functionary who requested that the household,
with the exception of the servants, should be assembled together
in the drawing-room. I realized the significance of this. It
was up to Poirot to make his boast good.

Personally, I was not sanguine. Poirot might have excellent
reasons for his belief in Inglethorp's innocence, but a man of
the type of Summerhaye would require tangible proofs, and these I
doubted if Poirot could supply.

Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, the
door of which Japp closed. Poirot politely set chairs for every
one. The Scotland Yard men were the cynosure of all eyes. I
think that for the first time we realized that the thing was not
a bad dream, but a tangible reality. We had read of such
things--now we ourselves were actors in the drama. To-morrow the
daily papers, all over England, would blazon out the news in