come to my house—for it is a lady. But to you she has already come as a patient before."
"Miss Russell!" I exclaimed.
"Précisément. I wish much to speak with her, so I send her the little note and make the appointment in your surgery. You are not annoyed with me?"
"On the contrary," I said. "That is, presuming I am allowed to be present at the interview?"
"But naturally! In your own surgery!"
"You know," I said, throwing down the pincers I was holding, "it's extraordinarily intriguing, the whole thing. Every new development that arises is like the shake you give to a kaleidoscope—the thing changes entirely in aspect. Now, why are you so anxious to see Miss Russell?"
Poirot raised his eyebrows.
"Surely it is obvious?" he murmured.
"There you go again," I grumbled. "According to you everything is obvious. But you leave me walking about in a fog."
Poirot shook his head genially at me.
"You mock yourself at me. Take the matter of Mademoiselle Flora. The inspector was surprised—but you—you were not."
"I never dreamed of her being the thief," I expostulated.
"That—perhaps no. But I was watching your face and you were not—like Inspector Raglan—startled and incredulous."
I thought for a minute or two.
[241]
