“I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined the Greek ex-Minister, I hope.”
“I?”
“I understand you sold him a very wonderful ruby which—strictly entre nous —is being worn by Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer?”
“Yes,” murmured Monsieur Papopolous; “yes, that is so.”
“A ruby not unlike the famous ‘Heart of Fire.’ ”
“It has points of resemblance, certainly,” said the Greek casually.
“You have a wonderful hand with jewels, Monsieur Papopolous. I congratulate you. Mademoiselle Zia, I am desolate that you are returning to Paris so speedily. I had hoped to see some more of you now that my business is accomplished.”
“Would one be indiscreet if one asked what that business was?” asked Monsieur Papopolous.
“Not at all, not at all. I have just succeeded in laying the Marquis by the heels.”
A faraway look came over Monsieur Papopolous’ noble countenance.
“The Marquis?” he murmured; “now why does that seem familiar to me? No—I cannot recall it.”
“You would not, I am sure,” said Poirot. “I refer to a very notable criminal and jewel robber. He has just been arrested for the murder of the English lady, Madame Kettering.”
“Indeed? How interesting these things are!”