Poirot’sabruptdeparturehadintriguedusallgreatly.Sundaymorningworeaway,andstillhedidnotreappear.Butaboutthreeo’clockaferociousandprolongedhootingoutsidedroveustothewindow,toseePoirotalightingfromacar,accompaniedbyJappandSummerhaye.Thelittlemanwastransformed.Heradiatedanabsurdcomplacency.HebowedwithexaggeratedrespecttoMaryCavendish.

           “Madame,Ihaveyourpermissiontoholdalittleréunioninthesalon?Itisnecessaryforeveryonetoattend.”

           Marysmiledsadly.

           “Youknow,MonsieurPoirot,thatyouhavecarteblancheineveryway.”

           “Youaretooamiable,madame.”

           Stillbeaming,Poirotmarshalledusallintothedrawing-room,bringingforwardchairsashedidso.

           “MissHoward—here.MademoiselleCynthia.MonsieurLawrence.ThegoodDorcas.AndAnnie.Bien!WemustdelayourproceedingsafewminutesuntilMr.Inglethorparrives.Ihavesenthimanote.”

           MissHowardroseimmediatelyfromherseat.

           “Ifthatmancomesintothehouse,Ileaveit!”

           “No,no!”Poirotwentuptoherandpleadedinalowvoice.

           FinallyMissHowardconsentedtoreturntoherchair.AfewminuteslaterAlfredInglethorpenteredtheroom.

           Thecompanyonceassembled,Poirotrosefromhisseatwiththeairofapopularlecturer,andbowedpolitelytohisaudience.

           “Messieurs,mesdames,asyouallknow,IwascalledinbyMonsieurJohnCavendishtoinvestigatethiscase.