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I was compelled to shake my head.
"
"
"
What extra coffee-cup?"
I don't know."
He'd better ask Dorcas, or one of the maids, if he wants to know about
coffee-cups. It's their business, not mine. I don't know anything about the
coffee-cups, except that we've got some that are never used, which are a
perfect dream! Old Worcester. You're not a connoisseur, are you, Hastings?"
I shook my head.
"You miss a lot. A really perfect bit of old china--it's pure delight to handle
it, or even to look at it."
"
"
"
Well, what am I to tell Poirot?"
Tell him I don't know what he's talking about. It's double Dutch to me."
All right."
I was moving off towards the house again when he suddenly called me back.
"I say, what was the end of that message? Say it over again, will you?"
"
'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Are you sure you
don't know what it means?" I asked him earnestly.
He shook his head.
"No," he said musingly, "I don't. I--I wish I did."
The boom of the gong sounded from the house, and we went in together.
Poirot had been asked by John to remain to lunch, and was already seated
at the table.
By tacit consent, all mention of the tragedy was barred. We conversed on the
war, and other outside topics. But after the cheese and biscuits had been
handed round, and Dorcas had left the room, Poirot suddenly leant forward
to Mrs. Cavendish.
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