“Well, she’s tall and fair; her hair’s really a beautiful shade of auburn⁠—”

“Always you have had a penchant for auburn hair!” murmured Poirot. “But continue.”

“Blue eyes and a very nice complexion and⁠—well, that’s all, I think,” I concluded lamely.

“And her husband?”

“Oh, he’s quite a nice fellow⁠—nothing startling.”

“Dark or fair?”

“I don’t know⁠—betwixt and between, and just an ordinary sort of face.”

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, there are hundreds of these average men⁠—and, anyway, you bring more sympathy and appreciation to your description of women. Do you know anything about these people? Does Parker know them well?”