Lawrence at that moment passed the door.

“Eh! Monsieur Lawrence,” called Poirot. “We must congratulate you, is it not so?”

Lawrence blushed, and then smiled awkwardly. A man in love is a sorry spectacle. Now Cynthia had looked charming.

I sighed.

“What is it, mon ami ?”

“Nothing,” I said sadly. “They are two delightful women!”

“And neither of them is for you?” finished Poirot. “Never mind. Console yourself, my friend. We may hunt together again, who knows? And then⁠—”