there is something I want you to do for me.”
“Certainly. What is it?”
“Next time you happen to be alone with Lawrence Cavendish, I want you to say this to him. ‘I have a message for you, from Poirot. He says: “Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace!” ‘ Nothing more. Nothing less.”
” ‘Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.’ Is that right?” I asked, much mystified.
“Excellent.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Ah, that I will leave you to find out. You have access to the
“Milles tonnerres!” cried Poirot, dumfounded. “And I—who have both the keys in my pocket!” He flung himself upon the case. Suddenly he stiffened. “En voila une affaire! This lock has been forced.”
“What?”
Poirot laid down the case again.
“But who forced it? Why should they? When? But the door was