I acquiesced.
“There, mon ami, you will be of great assistance to me.”
I was pleased with the compliment. There had been times when I hardly thought that Poirot appreciated me at my true worth.
“Yes,” he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, “you will be invaluable.”
This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot’s next words were not so welcome.
“I must have an ally in the house,” he observed reflectively.
“You have me,” I protested.
“True, but you are not sufficient.”
I was hurt, and showed it. Poirot hurried to explain himself.
like a cat’s. They were shining like emeralds now.
“My friend,” he broke out at last, “I have a little idea, a very strange, and probably utterly impossible idea. And yet—it fits in.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I privately thought that Poirot was rather too much given to these fantastic ideas. In this