"How long ago the War seems now!" mused Knighton.
They walked on in silence for some little way.
"You have something on your mind?" said Poirot.
Knighton looked at him in some surprise.
"You are quite right," he confessed. "I don’t know how you knew it, though."
"It showed itself only too plainly," said Poirot drily.
"I did not know that I was so transparent."
"It is my business to observe the physiognomy," the little man explained, with dignity.
"I will tell you, M. Poirot. You have heard of this dancer woman—Mirelle?"
"She who is the chère amie of M. Derek Kettering?"
"Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that M. Van Aldin is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Van Aldin at once."
"You interest me," said Poirot.
"Mr. Van Aldin was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Mirelle might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Don’t you agree with me, M. Poirot?"
"I do," said Poirot drily. "M. Van Aldin, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly."
