He glanced at the other two. They were deep in conversation, absorbed in each other. Poirot nodded his head in satisfaction, and then leant towards the millionaire, lowering his voice as he did so.

“It is not only for pleasure that I am here, M. Van Aldin. Observe just opposite us that tall old man⁠—the one with the yellow face and the venerable beard.”

“Well, what of him?”

“That,” Poirot said, “is M. Papopolous.”

“A Greek, eh?”

“As you say⁠—a Greek. He is a dealer in antiques of worldwide reputation. He has a small shop in Paris, and he is suspected by the police of being something more.”

“What?”