As we went home, Mary Cavendish spoke bitterly against the prosecuting counsel.

“That hateful man! What a net he has drawn around my poor John! How he twisted every little fact until he made it seem what it wasn’t!”

“Well,” I said consolingly, “it will be the other way about tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she said meditatively; then suddenly dropped her voice. “ Mr. Hastings, you do not think⁠—surely it could not have been Lawrence⁠—Oh, no, that could not be!”

But I myself was puzzled, and as soon as I was alone with Poirot I asked him what he thought Sir Ernest was driving at.

“Ah!” said Poirot appreciatively. “He is a clever man, that Sir Ernest.”

“Do you think he believes Lawrence guilty?”