tiny Russian cigarettes he himself occasionally smoked. I was amused to notice that he stowed away the used matches most carefully in a little china pot. My momentary annoyance vanished.
Poirot had placed our two chairs in front of the open window which commanded a view of the village street. The fresh air blew in warm and pleasant. It was going to be a hot day.
Suddenly my attention was arrested by a weedy looking young man rushing down the street at a great pace. It was the expression on his
I examined it closely.
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Look at the label.”
I read the label carefully: ” ‘One powder to be taken at bedtime, if required. Mrs. Inglethorp.’ No, I see nothing unusual.”
“Not the fact that there is no chemist’s name?”
“Ah!” I exclaimed. “To be sure, that is odd!”
“Have