explosives, bien entendu . But he was not really dead—ah! no, they are never really dead, these super criminals. This is the man—but even more so, if I may so put it. He is the 4 squared—in other words, he is now the No. 16. You comprehend, my friend?”
“Perfectly,” said Tuppence. “You are the great Hercule Poirot.”
“Exactly. No moustaches, but lots of grey cells.”
“I’ve a feeling,” said Tuppence, “that this particular adventure will be called the ‘Triumph of Hastings.’ ”
“Never,” said Tommy. “It isn’t done. Once the idiot friend, always the idiot friend. There’s an etiquette in these matters. By the way, mon ami , can you not part your hair in the middle instead of one side? The present effect is unsymmetrical and deplorable.”
The