“He did have a beard, sir,” replied Dorcas, smiling. “And well I know it, for he borrowed two skeins of my black wool to make it with! And I’m sure it looked wonderfully natural at a distance. I didn’t know as there was a beard up there at all. It must have been got quite lately, I think. There was a red wig, I know, but nothing else in the way of hair. Burnt corks they use mostly⁠—though ’tis messy getting it off again. Miss Cynthia was a nigger once, and, oh, the trouble she had.”

“So Dorcas knows nothing about that black beard,” said Poirot thoughtfully, as we walked out into the hall again.

“Do you think it is the one?” I whispered eagerly.

Poirot nodded.

“I do. You notice it had been trimmed?”

“No.”