“I had some trouble in my inquiries there, but I got what I wanted⁠—evidence that Ada Mason arrived on the morning after the crime and not on the evening of the day before.”

There was a long silence, then the millionaire stretched out a hand to Poirot across the table.

“I guess you know what this means to me, Monsieur Poirot,” he said huskily. “I am sending you round a cheque in the morning, but no cheque in the world will express what I feel about what you have done for me. You are the goods, Monsieur Poirot. Every time, you are the goods.”

Poirot rose to his feet; his chest swelled.

“I am only Hercule Poirot,” he said modestly, “yet, as you say, in my own way I am a big man, even as you also are a big man. I am glad and happy to have been of service to you. Now I go to repair the damages caused by travel. Alas! my excellent Georges is not with me.”