‘But no, but no, I am not hard-hearted.’

Poirot, I thought, had had quite enough champagne, possibly a glass too much.

‘Then you’ll go and see my husband? And make him do what I want?’

‘I will go and see him,’ Poirot promised cautiously.

‘And if he turns you down-as he will-you’ll think of a clever plan. They say you’re the cleverest man in England, M. Poirot.’

‘Madame, when I am hard-hearted, it is Europe you mention. But for cleverness you say only England.’

‘If you put this through I’ll say the universe.’ 

Poirot raised a deprecating hand.

‘Madame, I promise nothing. In the interests of the psychology I will endeavour to arrange a meeting with your husband.’

‘Psycho-analyse him as much as you like. Maybe it would do him good. But you’ve got to pull it off-for my sake. I’ve got to have my romance, M. Poirot.’

She added dreamily: ‘Just think of the sensation it will make.’

Chapter 3. The Man with the Gold Tooth

It was a few days later, when we were sitting at breakfast, that Poirot flung across to me a letter that he had just opened.

‘Well,mon ami,’ he said. ‘What do you think of that?’

The note was from Lord Edgware and in stiff formal language it made an appointment for the following day at eleven.

I must say that I was very much surprised. I had taken Poirot’s words uttered lightly in a convivial moment, and I had had no idea that he had actually taken steps to carry out his promise.

Poirot, who was very quick-witted, read my mind and his eyes twinkled a little.

‘But yes,mon ami, it was not solely the champagne.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ 

‘But yes-but yes-you thought to yourself, the poor old one, he has the spirit of the party, he promises things that he will not perform-that he has no intention of performing. But, my friend, the promises of Hercule Poirot are sacred.’