"From Scotland Yard."

"And you?"

"And me?"

"I know all about you, Monsieur Poirot. It was you who really solved the A.B.C. crimes."

"Mademoiselle, you cover me with confusion."

Miss Meredith drew her brows together.

"Mr. Shaitana," she began and then stopped. "Mr. Shaitana -"

Poirot said quietly, "One might say he was 'crime minded.' It seems so. Doubtless he wishes to hear us dispute ourselves. He is already egging on Mrs. Oliver and Doctor Roberts. They are now discussing untraceable poisons."

Miss Meredith gave a little gasp as she said, "What a queer man he is!"

"Doctor Roberts?"

"No, Mr. Shaitana."

She shivered a little and said, "There's always something a little frightening about him, I think. You never know what would strike him as amusing. It might – it might be something cruel!"

"Such as fox hunting, eh?"

Miss Meredith threw him a reproachful glance.

"I meant – oh, something Oriental!"

"He has perhaps the tortuous mind," admitted Poirot.

"Torturer's?"

"No, no, tortuous, I said."

"I don't think I like him frightfully," confided Miss Meredith, her voice dropping.

"You will like his dinner, though," Poirot assured her. "He has a marvelous cook."

She looked at him doubtfully and then laughed. "Why," she exclaimed, "I believe you are quite human!"

"But certainly I am human!"

"You see," said Miss Meredith, "all these celebrities are rather intimidating."

"Mademoiselle, you should not be intimidated – you should be thrilled! You should have all ready your autograph book and your fountain pen."

"Well, you see, I'm not really terribly interested in crime. I don't think women are; it's always men who read detective stories."