“I desire to see you both,” said the stranger, and he stepped nimbly past Hipolyte into the hall.

“Your wife is doubtless in the kitchen,” he said. “I will go there.”

Before Hipolyte could recover his breath, the other had selected the right door at the back of the hall and passed along the passage and into the kitchen, where Marie paused open-mouthed to stare at him.

“ Voilà ,” said the stranger, and sank into a wooden armchair; “I am Hercule Poirot.”

“Yes, Monsieur?”

“You do not know the name?”

“I have never heard it,” said Hipolyte.

“Permit me to say that you have been badly educated. It is the name of one of the great ones of this world.”