Seizing suitcases he hurried from the train. Van Aldin and Knighton, bewildered but obedient, followed him. Van Aldin having once more formed his opinion of Poirot’s ability was slow to depart from it. At the barrier they were held up. Their tickets were in the charge of the conductor of the train, a fact which all three of them had forgotten.

Poirot’s explanations were rapid, fluent, and impassioned, but they produced no effect upon the stolid-faced official.

“Let us get quit of this,” said Van Aldin abruptly. “I gather you are in a hurry, Monsieur Poirot. For God’s sake pay the fares from Calais and let us get right on with whatever you have got on your mind.”

But Poirot’s flood of language had suddenly stopped dead, and he had the appearance of a man turned to stone. His arm, still outflung in an impassioned gesture, remained there as though stricken with paralysis.