“You old sinner! I thought you were working up to something
exciting.”
“Au revoir, my friend. I save myself. I fly!”
The door shut behind him. With a smile, half of derision, half of
affection, I picked up the coat, and stretched out my hand for the
clothes-brush.
• • • • • • •
The next morning, hearing nothing from Poirot, I went out for a
stroll, met some old friends, and lunched with them at their hotel.
In the afternoon we went for a spin. A punctured tyre delayed us,
and it was past eight when I got back to the _Grand Metropolitan_.
The first sight that met my eyes was Poirot, looking even more
diminutive than usual, sandwiched between the Opalsens, beaming in
a state of placid satisfaction.
“_Mon ami_ Hastings!” he cried, and sprang to meet me. “Embrace
me, my friend; all has marched to a marvel!”
Luckily, the embrace was merely figurative—not a thing one is
always sure of with Poirot.
“Do you mean——” I began.
“Just wonderful, I call it!” said Mrs. Opalsen, smiling all over
her fat face. “Didn’t I tell you, Ed, that if he couldn’t get back
my pearls nobody would?”
“You did, my dear, you did. And you were right.”