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of irritating him. In spite of his idiosyncrasies, I was deeply attached to my quaint little friend.

"Bien!" he said at length, with a curious look on his face. "The plot develops. Pass me, I pray you, that 'Peerage' on the top shelf there." He turned the leaves. "Ah, here we are! 'Yardly 10th Viscount, served South African War' tout ça n'a pas d'importance 'mar. 1907 Hon. Maude Stopperton, fourth daughter of 3rd Baron Cotteril'  um, um, um,  'has iss. two daughters, born 1908, 1910  Clubs  residences.'  Voilà, that does not tell us much. But to-morrow morning we see this milord!"

"What?"

"Yes. I telegraphed to him."

"I thought you had washed your hands of the case?"

"I am not acting for Miss Marvell since she refuses to be guided by my advice. What I do now is for my own satisfaction—the satisfaction of Hercule Poirot! Decidedly, I must have a finger in this pie."

"And you calmly wire Lord Yardly to dash up to town just to suit your convenience. He won't be pleased."