“Ah, ma foi , no!” replied Poirot frankly. “This time it is an idea gigantic! Stupendous! And you⁠— you , my friend, have given it to me!”

Suddenly clasping me in his arms, he kissed me warmly on both cheeks, and before I had recovered from my surprise ran headlong from the room.

Mary Cavendish entered at that moment.

“What is the matter with Monsieur Poirot? He rushed past me crying out: ‘A garage! For the love of Heaven, direct me to a garage, madame!’ And, before I could answer, he had dashed out into the street.”

I hurried to the window. True enough, there he was, tearing down the street, hatless, and gesticulating as he went. I turned to Mary with a gesture of despair.

“He’ll be stopped by a policeman in another minute. There he goes, round the corner!”