In the lounge of the hotel he encountered a friend⁠—the venerable Monsieur Papopolous, his daughter Zia beside him.

“I thought you had left Nice, Monsieur Poirot,” murmured the Greek as he took the detective’s affectionately proffered hand.

“Business compelled me to return, my dear Monsieur Papopolous.”

“Business?”

“Yes, business. And talking of business, I hope your health is better, my dear friend?”

“Much better. In fact, we are returning to Paris tomorrow.”

“I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined the Greek ex-Minister, I hope.”

“I?”