“That’s what I said—in here.”
Caroline gave a sniff of disapproval and retired. She returned in a moment or two, ushering in Poirot, and then retired again, shutting the door with a bang.
“Aha! my friend,” said Poirot, coming forward and rubbing his hands. “You have not got rid of me so easily, you see!”
“Finished with the inspector?” I asked.
“For the moment, yes. And you, you have seen all the patients?”
“Yes.”
Poirot sat down and looked at me, tilting his egg-shaped head on one side, with the air of one who savours a very delicious joke.
“You are in error,” he said at last. “You have still one patient to see.”
“Not you?” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Ah, not me, bien entendu . Me, I have the health magnificent. No, to tell you the truth, it is a little complot of mine. There is someone I wish to see, you understand—and at the same time it is not necessary that the whole village should intrigue itself about the matter—which is what would happen if the lady were seen to come to my house—for it is a lady. But to you she has already come as a patient before.”
“Miss Russell!” I exclaimed.
“ Précisément. I wish much to speak with her, so I send her the little note and make the appointment in your surgery. You are not annoyed with me?”
“On the contrary,” I said. “That is, presuming I am allowed to be present at the interview?”