The butler announced, "Major Despard."

Major Despard was a tall, lean, handsome man, his face slightly marred by a scar on the temple. Introductions completed, he gravitated naturally to the side of Colonel Race – and the two men were soon talking sport and comparing their experiences on safari.

For the last time the door opened and the butler announced, "Miss Meredith."

A girl in the early twenties entered. She was of medium height and pretty. Brown curls clustered in her neck, her gray eyes were large and wide apart. Her face was powdered but not made up. Her voice was slow and rather shy.

She said, "Oh, dear, am I the last?"

Mr. Shaitana descended on her with sherry and an ornate and complimentary reply. His introductions were formal and almost ceremonious.

Miss Meredith was left sipping her sherry by Poirot's side.

"Our friend is very punctilious," said Poirot with a smile.

The girl agreed. "I know. People rather dispense with introductions nowadays. They just say, 'I expect you know everybody,' and leave it at that."

"Whether you do or you don't?"

"Whether you do or don't. Sometimes it makes it awkward – but I think this is more awe inspiring."

She hesitated and then said, "Is that Mrs. Oliver the novelist?"

Mrs. Oliver's bass voice rose powerfully at that minute speaking to Doctor Roberts.

"You can't get away from a woman's instinct, Doctor. Women know these things."

Forgetting that she no longer had a brow, she endeavored to sweep her hair back from it but was foiled by the fringe.

"That is Mrs. Oliver," said Poirot.

"The one who wrote The Body in the Library?"

"That identical one."

Miss Meredith frowned a little.

"And that wooden-looking man – a superintendent, did Mr. Shaitana say?"