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Chapter XI. The Case for the Prosecution
“Thistimeitisanideagigantic!Stupendous!Andyou—you,myfriend,havegivenittome!”
Suddenlyclaspingmeinhisarms,hekissedmewarmlyonbothcheeks,andbeforeIhadrecoveredfrommysurpriseranheadlongfromtheroom.
MaryCavendishenteredatthatmoment.
“WhatisthematterwithMonsieurPoirot?Herushedpastmecryingout:‘Agarage!FortheloveofHeaven,directmetoagarage,madame!’And,beforeIcouldanswer,hehaddashedoutintothestreet.”
Ihurriedtothewindow.Trueenough,therehewas,tearingdownthestreet,hatless,andgesticulatingashewent.IturnedtoMarywithagestureofdespair.
“He’llbestoppedbyapolicemaninanotherminute.Therehegoes,roundthecorner!”
Oureyesmet,andwestaredhelplesslyatoneanother.
“Whatcanbethematter?”
Ishookmyhead.
“Idon’tknow.Hewasbuildingcardhouses,whensuddenlyhesaidhehadanidea,andrushedoffasyousaw.”
“Well,”saidMary,“Iexpecthewillbebackbeforedinner.”
Butnightfell,andPoirothadnotreturned.