“Set fair, and seventy degrees Fahrenheit. An orthodox English summer’s day.”

Ingles was still examining various pieces of Chinese pottery.

“You do not take much interest in this inquiry, monsieur?” said Poirot.

The other gave a slow smile.

“It’s not my job, you see. I’m a connoisseur of some things, but not of this. So I just stand back and keep out of the way. I’ve learnt patience in the East.”

The Inspector came bustling in, apologizing for having been so long away. He insisted on taking us over most of the ground again, but finally we got away.

“I must appreciate your thousand politenesses, Inspector,” said Poirot, as we were walking down the village street again. “There is just one more request I should like to put to you.”