suffer from a chill. I observed that he had slippers on his feet, and that his dressing-gown was a warm one."
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"
"It is true that none of us have the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame. It is especially to be regretted as one of our number has come specially from New York in order to meet you."
The curtains parted and the Italian stepped out. To my horror I observed that he was brandishing my revolver, which Poirot must doubtless have put down through inadvertence in the cab.
The woman gave a piercing scream and turned to fly, but Poirot was standing in front of the closed door.
"Let me by," she shrieked. "He will murder me."
"Who was it dat croaked Luigi Valdarno?" asked the Italian hoarsely, brandishing the weapon, and sweeping each one of us with it. We dared not move.
"My God, Poirot, this is awful. What shall we do?" I cried.
