“No. I do not believe that anyone could be so monstrous as to accuse me of what you say.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully, like a man whose mind is made up.
“Soit!” he said. “Then I must speak for you.”
Alfred Inglethorp sprang up again.
“You? How can you speak? You do not know——” he broke off abruptly.
Poirot turned to face us. “Mesdames and messieurs! I speak! Listen! I, Hercule Poirot, affirm that the man who entered the chemist’s shop, and purchased strychnine at six o’clock on Monday last was not Mr. Inglethorp, for at six o’clock on that day Mr. Inglethorp was escorting Mrs. Raikes back to her home from a neighbouring farm. I can produce no less than five witnesses to swear to having seen them together, either at six or just after and, as you may know, the Abbey Farm, Mrs. Raikes’s home, is at least two and a half miles distant from the village. There is absolutely no question as to the alibi!”
CHAPTER VIII.
FRESH SUSPICIONS
There was a moment’s stupefied silence. Japp, who was the least surprised of any of us, was the first to speak.
“My word,” he cried, “you’re the goods! And no mistake, Mr. Poirot! These witnesses of yours are all right, I suppose?”
“Voilà! I have prepared a list of them—names and addresses. You must see them, of course. But you will find it all right.”