He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence, a telegram had come for him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his master.

“I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate?”

The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the little table at his master’s elbow. As he was preparing to retire, Poirot spoke:

“I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy?” murmured Poirot.

George smiled apologetically.

“I think that I might say that I have, sir,” he replied.

“I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders?”