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I. The Adventure of “The Western Star”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Madame,Ihaveadvised.Icandonomore.C’estfini.”
Hebowedthembothtothedoor.
“Ah!lala,”heobserved,returning.“Histoiredefemmes!Thegoodhusband,hehitthenailonthehead—toutdemême,hewasnottactful!Assuredlynot.”
Iimpartedtohimmyvagueremembrances,andhenoddedvigorously.
“SoIthought.Allthesame,thereissomethingcuriousunderneathallthis.Withyourpermission,monami,Iwilltaketheair.Awaitmyreturn,Ibegofyou.Ishallnotbelong.”
Iwashalfasleepinmychairwhenthelandladytappedonthedoor,andputherheadin.
“It’sanotherladytoseeMr.Poirot,sir.I’vetoldherhewasout,butshesaysashowshe’llwait,seeingasshe’scomeupfromthecountry.”
“Oh,showherinhere,Mrs.Murchison.PerhapsIcandosomethingforher.”
Inanothermomenttheladyhadbeenusheredin.MyheartgavealeapasIrecognizedher.LadyYardly’sportraithadfiguredtoooftenintheSocietypaperstoallowhertoremainunknown.
“Dositdown,LadyYardly,”Isaid,drawingforwardachair.“MyfriendPoirotisout,butIknowforafactthathe’llbebackveryshortly.”
Shethankedmeandsatdown.Averydifferenttype,this,fromMissMaryMarvell.Tall,dark,withflashingeyes,andapaleproudface—yetsomethingwistfulinthecurvesofthemouth.
Ifeltadesiretorisetotheoccasion.Whynot?InPoirot’spresenceIhavefrequentlyfeltadifficulty—Idonotappearatmybest.AndyetthereisnodoubtthatI,too,possessthedeductivesenseinamarkeddegree.
