Chapter XI. The Case for the Prosecution

           ThetrialofJohnCavendishforthemurderofhisstepmothertookplacetwomonthslater.

           OftheinterveningweeksIwillsaylittle,butmyadmirationandsympathywentoutunfeignedlytoMaryCavendish.Sherangedherselfpassionatelyonherhusband’sside,scorningthemereideaofhisguilt,andfoughtforhimtoothandnail.

           IexpressedmyadmirationtoPoirot,andhenoddedthoughtfully.

           “Yes,sheisofthosewomenwhoshowattheirbestinadversity.Itbringsoutallthatissweetestandtruestinthem.Herprideandherjealousyhave——”

           “Jealousy?”Iqueried.

           “Yes.Haveyounotrealizedthatsheisanunusuallyjealouswoman?AsIwassaying,herprideandjealousyhavebeenlaidaside.Shethinksofnothingbutherhusband,andtheterriblefatethatishangingoverhim.”

           Hespokeveryfeelingly,andIlookedathimearnestly,rememberingthatlastafternoon,whenhehadbeendeliberatingwhetherornottospeak.Withhistendernessfor“awoman’shappiness,”Ifeltgladthatthedecisionhadbeentakenoutofhishands.

           “Evennow,”Isaid,“Icanhardlybelieveit.Yousee,uptotheverylastminute,IthoughtitwasLawrence!”

           Poirotgrinned.

           “Iknowyoudid.”

           “ButJohn!MyoldfriendJohn!”

           “Everymurdererisprobablysomebody’soldfriend,”observedPoirotphilosophically.“Youcannotmixupsentimentandreason.”

           “ImustsayIthinkyoumighthavegivenmeahint.”

           “Perhaps,monami,Ididnotdoso,justbecausehewasyouroldfriend.