'Don't say you collect bugs!'

'No. I share rooms with a very interesting man. He's a Belgian-an ex-detective. He's set up as a private detective in London, and he's doing extraordinarily well. He's really a very marvellous little man. Time and again he has proved to be right where the official police have failed.'

My companion listened with widening eyes.

'Isn't that interesting, now? I just adore crime. I go to all the mysteries on the movies. And when there's a murder on I just devour the papers.'

'Do you remember the Styles Case?' I asked.

'Let me see, was that the old lady who was poisoned? Somewhere down in Essex?'

I nodded.

'That was Poirot's first big case. Undoubtedly, but for him the murderer would have escaped scot-free. It was a most wonderful bit of detective work.'

Warming to my subject, I ran over the heads of the affair, working up to the triumphant and unexpected denouement.

The girl listened spellbound. In fact, we were so absorbed that the train drew into Calais station before we realized it.

I secured a couple of porters, and we alighted on the platform.

My companion held out her hand.

'Goodbye, and I'll mind my language better in future.'

'Oh, but surely you'll let me look after you on the boat?'

'Mayn't be on the boat. I've got to see whether that sister of mine got aboard after all anywhere. But thanks, all the same.'

'Oh, but we're going to meet again, surely? Aren't you even going to tell me your name.' I cried as she turned away.

She looked over her shoulder.

'Cinderella,' she said, and laughed.

But little did I think when and how I should see Cinderella again.

Chapter 2. An Appeal for Help

IT was five minutes past nine when I entered our joint sitting room for breakfast on the following morning. My friend Poirot, exact to the minute as usual, was just tapping the shell of his second egg.