Poirot tactfully made a diversion.
“It is true what I heard you say, Major Blunt. There is something that glitters in this pond. Let us see if I can reach it.”
He knelt down by the pond, baring his arm to the elbow, and lowered it in very slowly, so as not to disturb the bottom of the pond. But in spite of all his precautions the mud eddied and swirled, and he was forced to draw his arm out again empty-handed.
He gazed ruefully at the mud upon his arm. I offered him my handkerchief, which he accepted with fervent protestations of thanks. Blunt looked at his watch.
“Nearly lunch time,” he said. “We’d better be getting back to the house.”
“You will lunch with us, M. Poirot?” asked Flora. “I should like you to meet my mother. She is—very fond of Ralph.”
The little man bowed. “I shall be delighted, mademoiselle.”
“And you will stay, too, won’t you, Dr. Sheppard?”
I hesitated.
“Oh, do!”
I wanted to, so I accepted the invitation without further ceremony. We set out towards the house, Flora and Blunt walking ahead.
“What hair,” said Poirot to me in a low tone, nodding towards Flora. “The real gold! They will make a pretty couple. She and the dark, handsome Captain Paton. Will they not?”
I looked at him inquiringly, but he began to fuss about a few microscopic drops of water on his coat sleeve. The man reminded me in some ways of a cat. His green eyes and his finicking habits.