It was a medium sized sheet of paper, rather dusty, as though it had lain by for some time. But it was the label that was attracting Poirot’s attention. At the top, it bore the printed stamp of Messrs. Parkson’s, the well-known theatrical costumiers, and it was addressed to “⁠—(the debatable initial) Cavendish, Esq. , Styles Court, Styles St. Mary, Essex.”

“It might be T., or it might be L.,” I said, after studying the thing for a minute or two. “It certainly isn’t a J.”

“Good,” replied Poirot, folding up the paper again. “I, also, am of your way of thinking. It is an L., depend upon it!”

“Where did it come from?” I asked curiously. “Is it important?”