Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, the door of which Japp closed. Poirot politely set chairs for everyone. 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. Tomorrow the daily papers, all over England, would blazon out the news in staring headlines:

“Mysterious Tragedy in Essex”

“Wealthy Lady Poisoned”

“Mysterious Tragedy in Essex”

“Wealthy Lady Poisoned”