“Ah, mon ami , you mistake my emotion. It is this villainous sea that troubles me! The mal de mer ⁠—it is horrible suffering!”

“Oh!” I said, rather taken aback.

The first throb of the engines was felt, and Poirot groaned and closed his eyes.

“Major Norman has a map of Northern France if you would like to study it?”

Poirot shook his head impatiently.

“But no, but no! Leave me, my friend. See you, to think, the stomach and the brain must be in harmony. Laverguier has a method most excellent for averting the mal de mer . You breathe in⁠—and out⁠—slowly, so⁠—turning the head from left to right and counting six between each breath.”