“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.

“How long ago the War seems now!” mused Knighton.

They walked on in silence for some little way.

“You have something on your mind?” said Poirot.