Interview with Mirelle
When Knighton left Katherine he went in search of Hercule Poirot, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Knighton joined him, the number thirty-three turned up, and Poirot’s stake was swept away.
“Bad luck!” said Knighton; “are you going to stake again?”
Poirot shook his head.
“Not at present.”
“Do you feel the fascination of gambling?” asked Knighton curiously.
“Not at roulette.”
Knighton shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference.
“I wonder, are you busy, M. Poirot? There is something I would like to ask you about.”
“I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine.”
They strolled out together, and Knighton drew a deep breath.
“I love the Riviera,” he said. “I came here first twelve years ago, during the War, when I was sent to Lady Tamplin’s Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this.”
“It must have been,” said Poirot.