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 Poirot made an eloquent gesture.

“Mon ami, for the moment it is an open question. I would just point out to you that Claud Darrell has been in China and America—a fact not without significance, perhaps, but we must not allow ourselves to be unduly biased by that point. It may be a mere coincidence.”

“And the next step?” I asked eagerly.

“Affairs are already in train. Every day cautiously worded advertisements will appear. Friends and relatives of one or the other will be asked to communicate with my solicitor at his office. Even to-day we might Aha, the telephone! Probably it is, as usual, the wrong number, and they will regret to have troubled us, but it may be—yes, it may be—that something has arisen.”

I crossed the room and picked up the receiver.

“Yes, yes. M. Poirot’s rooms. Yes, Captain Hastings speaking. Oh, it’s you, Mr. McNeil! (McNeil and Hodgson were Poirot’s solicitors.) I’ll tell him. Yes, we’ll come round at once.”

I replaced the receiver and turned to Poirot, my eyes dancing with excitement.

“I say, Poirot, there’s a woman there. Friend of Claud Darrell’s. Miss Flossie Monro. McNeil wants you to come round,”

“At the instant!” cried Poirot, disappearing