At the close of dinner M. Papopolous inquired politely:

“And the tip I gave you? You have had your little flutter on the horse?”

“I am in communication with⁠—er⁠—my bookmaker,” replied Poirot.

The eyes of the two men met.

“A well-known horse, eh?”

“No,” said Poirot; “it is what our friends, the English, call a dark horse.”

“Ah!” said M. Papopolous thoughtfully.

“Now we must step across to the Casino and have our little flutter at the roulette table,” cried Poirot gaily.