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“
Have
you
ever
thought
,
Hastings
—
it
’
s
a
nightmare
to
me
—
who
did
it
?
I
can
’
t
help
feeling
sometimes
it
must
have
been
an
accident
.
Because
—
because
—
who
could
have
done
it
?
Now
Inglethorp
’
s
out
of
the
way
,
there
’
s
no
one
else
;
no
one
,
I
mean
,
except
—
one
of
us
.
”
Yes
,
indeed
,
that
was
nightmare
enough
for
any
man
!
One
of
us
?
Yes
,
surely
it
must
be
so
,
unless
—
—
-
A
new
idea
suggested
itself
to
my
mind
.
Rapidly
,
I
considered
it
.
The
light
increased
.
Poirot
’
s
mysterious
doings
,
his
hints
—
they
all
fitted
in
.
Fool
that
I
was
not
to
have
thought
of
this
possibility
before
,
and
what
a
relief
for
us
all
.
“
No
,
John
,
”
I
said
,
“
it
isn
’
t
one
of
us
.
How
could
it
be
?
”
“
I
know
,
but
,
still
,
who
else
is
there
?
”
“
Can
’
t
you
guess
?
”
“
No
.
”
I
looked
cautiously
round
,
and
lowered
my
voice
.
“
Dr
.
Bauerstein
!
”
I
whispered
.
“
Impossible
!
”
