It would be⁠—to Caroline. I could not but admire the ingenuity of M. Hercule Poirot, who had selected unerringly the case of all others that would most appeal to an elderly maiden lady living in a small village.

“Did he tell you if the dancer was really a Grand Duchess?” I inquired.

“He was not at liberty to speak,” said Caroline importantly.

I wondered how far Poirot had strained the truth in talking to Caroline⁠—probably not at all. He had conveyed his innuendoes by means of his eyebrows and his shoulders.

“And after all this,” I remarked, “I suppose you were ready to eat out of his hand?”

“Don’t be coarse, James. I don’t know where you get these vulgar expressions from.”