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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.
