drew, somewhat unwillingly, with an inquisitive glance at the overturned waste-paper-basket and the litter on the floor. He could hardly have helped overhearing Poirot's thoughtful remark as he bundled the torn papers back again:
"And the necklace was heavily insured. . . ."
"Poirot," I cried, "I see———"
"You see nothing, my friend," he replied quickly. "As usual, nothing at all! It is incredible—but there it is. Let us return to our own apartments."
We did so in silence. Once there, to my intense surprise, Poirot effected a rapid change of clothing.
"I go to London to-night," he explained. "It is imperative."
"What?"
"Absolutely. The real work, that of the brain (ah, those brave little grey cells), it is done. I go to seek the confirmation. I shall find it! Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot!"
"You'll come a cropper one of these days," I observed, rather disgusted by his vanity.
"Do not be enraged, I beg of you, mon ami. I count on you to do me a service—of your friendship."
