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the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His

moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost

incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than

a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was sorry to see,

now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members

of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he

had achieved triumphs by unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the

day.

He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his fellow

Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised

his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away.

He's a dear little man," said Cynthia. "I'd no idea you knew him."

You've been entertaining a celebrity unawares," I replied.

And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various exploits and

triumphs of Hercule Poirot.

We arrived back in a very cheerful mood. As we entered the hall, Mrs.

Inglethorp came out of her boudoir. She looked flushed and upset.

Oh, it's you," she said.

Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?" asked Cynthia.

Certainly not," said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply. "What should there be?" Then

catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going into the dining-room, she

called to her to bring some stamps into the boudoir.

"Yes, m'm." The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: "Don't you

think, m'm, you'd better get to bed? You're looking very tired."

"Perhaps you're right, Dorcas--yes--no--not now. I've some letters I must

finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in my room as I told you?"

"Yes, m'm."

Then I'll go to bed directly after supper."

She went into the boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles