“Apart from the eyeglass, then, I'm much the same?”
“You've got quit of your cold now, sir. You were quite hoarse that night you came to the house—as if you'd got a touch of sore throat or something like that.”
“That's true. I've no cold now. Anything more?”
Mrs. Marple subjected him to another prolonged scrutiny.
“No, sir. You're just like you were that night.”
“And you recognised me from some newspaper portrait, it seems?”
“Yes, sir. I saw your picture in the evening paper once. It was just a head-and-shoulders one; but I'd have recognised you from it even if you hadn't shown me your card.”
Sir Clinton reflected for a moment.
“Can you remember what was on that card?” he asked.
Mrs. Marple consulted her memory.