The Last Link
Poirot’s abrupt departure had intrigued us all greatly. Sunday morning wore away, and still he did not reappear. But about three o’clock a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside drove us to the window, to see Poirot alighting from a car, accompanied by Japp and Summerhaye. The little man was transformed. He radiated an absurd complacency. He bowed with exaggerated respect to Mary Cavendish.
“Madame, I have your permission to hold a little réunion in the salon ? It is necessary for everyone to attend.”
Mary smiled sadly.
“You know, Monsieur Poirot, that you have carte blanche in every way.”
“You are too amiable, madame.”