“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 manufactured⁠—so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Because, so long as the evidence against him was vague and intangible, it was very hard to disprove. But, in his anxiety, the criminal has drawn the net so closely that one cut will set Inglethorp free.”

I was silent. And in a minute or two, Poirot continued: