That difficult task accomplished, he glanced round him whilst waiting for the next course. Hercule Poirot addressed himself to the task of keeping his moustaches out of the soup. “Some little success I have had, perhaps.” Hercule Poirot tried to look modest but failed signally. “Les affaires-les affaires! But you-you are at the top of the tree nowadays, mon vieux!” It was my intention to remain here some days, but I have received a telegram recalling me to England on important business.” I have just asked them to get me a sleeper. You travel on the Simplon-Orient, I presume?” That is to say, I go as far as Lausanne, where I have affairs. “You find yourself far from home, mon cher,” said M.
Bouc was a Belgian, a director of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons Lits, and his acquaintance with the former star of the Belgian Police Force dated back many years. The speaker was a short, stout elderly man, his hair cut en brosse. “Ah! mon vieux, but this is an unexpected pleasure,” said a voice behind him. He went over and cancelled his room order and crossed the hall to the restaurant.Īs he was giving his order to the waiter a hand was placed on his shoulder. I will get you a ticket to London and reserve your sleeping car accommodation in the Stamboul-Calais coach.” There is no difficulty this time of year. “At what time does the Simplon Orient leave?” “I shall have to go on tonight,” he said to the concierge.
“Voilà ce qui est embêtant,” murmured Poirot vexedly. “Development you predicted in Kassner Case has come unexpectedly please return immediately.” He opened it in his usual neat, unhurried fashion. His eyebrows rose a little at the sight of the telegram. There were three waiting for him and a telegram.
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