“You really believe that?” I said incredulously.
“I see that you do not,” said Poirot drily. “Not yet do you appreciate Hercule Poirot at his true worth.”
At that minute Ursula came down the staircase.
“You are ready, my child?” said Poirot. “That is good. We will go to my house together. Mademoiselle Caroline, believe me, I do everything possible to render you service. Good evening.”
We went off, leaving Caroline rather like a dog who has been refused a walk, standing on the front door step gazing after us.
The sitting room at The Larches had been got ready. On the table were various sirops and glasses. Also a plate of biscuits. Several chairs had been brought in from the other room.
Poirot ran to and fro rearranging things. Pulling out a chair here, altering the position of a lamp there, occasionally stooping to straighten one of the mats that covered the floor. He was specially fussing over the lighting. The lamps were arranged in such a way as to throw a clear light on the side of the room where the chairs were grouped, at the same time leaving the other end of the room, where I presumed Poirot himself would sit, in a dim twilight.
Ursula and I watched him. Presently a bell was heard.
“They arrive,” said Poirot. “Good, all is in readiness.”
The door opened and the party from Fernly filed in. Poirot went forward and greeted Mrs. Ackroyd and Flora.
“It is most good of you to come,” he said. “And Major Blunt and Mr. Raymond.”