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Chapter IX. Dr. Bauerstein

           “Itcan’tlastforever.”

           “Can’tit,though?Itcanlastlongenoughforusnevertobeabletoholdupourheadsagain.”

           “No,no,you’regettingmorbidonthesubject.”

           “Enoughtomakeamanmorbid,tobestalkedbybeastlyjournalistsandstaredatbygapingmoon-facedidiots,whereverhegoes!Butthere’sworsethanthat.”

           “What?”

           Johnloweredhisvoice:

           “Haveyoueverthought,Hastings—it’sanightmaretome—whodidit?Ican’thelpfeelingsometimesitmusthavebeenanaccident.Because—because—whocouldhavedoneit?NowInglethorp’soutoftheway,there’snooneelse;noone,Imean,except—oneofus.”

           Yes,indeed,thatwasnightmareenoughforanyman!Oneofus?Yes,surelyitmustbeso,unless——-

           Anewideasuggesteditselftomymind.Rapidly,Iconsideredit.Thelightincreased.Poirot’smysteriousdoings,hishints—theyallfittedin.FoolthatIwasnottohavethoughtofthispossibilitybefore,andwhatareliefforusall.

           “No,John,”Isaid,“itisn’toneofus.Howcoulditbe?”

           “Iknow,but,still,whoelseisthere?”

           “Can’tyouguess?”

           “No.”

           Ilookedcautiouslyround,andloweredmyvoice.

           “Dr.Bauerstein!”Iwhispered.

           “Impossible!”

           “Notatall.”

           “Butwhatearthlyinterestcouldhehaveinmymother’sdeath?”

           “ThatIdon’tsee,”Iconfessed,“butI’lltellyouthis:Poirotthinksso.”

           “Poirot?Doeshe?Howdoyouknow?”

           ItoldhimofPoirot’sintenseexcitementonhearingthatDr.

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