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 the girl on By the way, mon ami, as an interesting fact psychologically, had she got red hair?”

“If you mean Miss Martin,” I said coldly. “Her hair is a delicate shade of auburn, but”

“They are épatant—these people! They have even studied your psychology. Oh! yes, my friend, Miss Martin was in the plot—very much so. She repeats the letter to you, together with her tale of Mr. Ryland’s wrath, you write it down, you puzzle your brains—the cipher is nicely arranged, difficult, but not too difficult—you solve it, and you send for me.”

“But what they do not know is that I am waiting for just this very thing to happen. I go post haste to Japp and arrange things. And so, as you see, all is triumph!”

I was not particularly pleased with Poirot, and I told him so. We went back to London on a milk train in the early hours of the morning, and a most uncomfortable journey it was.

I was just out of my bath and indulging in pleasurable thoughts of breakfast when I heard Japp’s voice in the sitting-room. I threw on a bath-robe and hurried in,

“A pretty mare’s nest you've got us into this time,” Japp was saying. “It’s too bad of you, M. Poirot. First time I’ve ever known you take a toss.”