“Yes,” replied Harvey. “There is a place called the Felsenlabyrynth⁠—all big boulders piled about in a most fantastic way⁠—a path winds through them. The quarrying is to the right of that, but we think that the entrance is probably in the Felsenlabyrynth.”

Poirot nodded.

“Come, mon ami ,” he said to me. “Let us go down and sit upon the terrace and enjoy the sunlight.”

“You think that wise?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

The sunlight was marvellous⁠—in fact the glare was almost too great for me. We had some creamy coffee instead of tea, then went upstairs and unpacked our few belongings. Poirot was in his most unapproachable mood, lost in a kind of reverie. Once or twice he shook his head and sighed.