"You have been to the Riviera before, Georges?" said Poirot to his
valet the following morning.
George was an intensely English, rather wooden-faced individual.
"Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord
Edward Frampton."
"And to-day," murmured his master, "you are here with Hercule Poirot.
How one mounts in the world!"
The valet made no reply to this observation. After a suitable pause he
asked:
"The brown lounge suit, sir? The wind is somewhat chilly to-day."
"There is a grease spot on the waistcoat," objected Poirot. "A
_morceau_ of _filet de sole à la Jeannette_ alighted there when I was
lunching at the Ritz last Tuesday."
"There is no spot there now, sir," said George reproachfully. "I have
removed it."
"_Très bien!_" said Poirot. "I am pleased with you, Georges."
"Thank you, sir."
There was a pause, and then Poirot murmured dreamily:
"Supposing, my good Georges, that you had been born in the same social
sphere as your late master, Lord Edward Frampton--that, penniless
yourself, you had married an extremely wealthy wife, but that that wife
proposed to divorce you, with excellent reasons, what would you do
about it?"
"I should endeavour, sir," replied George, "to make her change her
mind."
"By peaceful or by forcible methods?"
George looked shocked.
"You will excuse me, sir," he said, "but a gentleman of the aristocracy
would not behave like a Whitechapel coster. He would not do anything
low."
"Would he not, Georges? I wonder now. Well, perhaps you are right."
There was a knock on the door. George went to it and opened it a
discreet inch or two. A low murmured colloquy went on, and then the
valet returned to Poirot.
"A note, sir."
Poirot took it. It was from M. Caux, the Commissary of Police.
"We are about to interrogate the Comte de la Roche. The Juge
d'Instruction begs that you will be present."
"Quickly, my suit, Georges! I must hasten myself."
A quarter of an hour later, spick and span in his brown suit, Poirot
entered the Examining Magistrate's room. M. Caux was already there, and
both he and M. Carrège greeted Poirot with polite _empressement_.
"The affair is somewhat discouraging," murmured M. Caux.
"It appears that the Comte arrived in Nice the day before the murder."
"If that is true, it will settle your affair nicely for you," responded
Poirot.