fashionable doctor, no fashionable dentist—still less is there a fashionable

milliner! But there _is_ a fashionable detective. _Oui_, my friend, it is true—I

am become the mode, the _dernier cri_! One says to another: ‘_Comment?_ You have

lost your gold pencil-case? You must go to the little Belgian. He is too

marvellous! Every one goes! _Courez!’_ And they arrive! In flocks, _mon ami_!

With problems of the most foolish!” A bell rang below. “What did I tell you?

That is Miss Marvell.”

 

As usual, Poirot was right. After a short interval, the American film star was

ushered in, and we rose to our feet.

 

Mary Marvell was undoubtedly one of the most popular actresses on the screen.

She had only lately arrived in England in company with her husband, Gregory B.

Rolf, also a film actor. Their marriage had taken place about a year ago in the

States and this was their first visit to England. They had been given a great

reception.

 

Every one was prepared to go mad over Mary Marvell, her wonderful clothes, her

furs, her jewels, above all one jewel, the great diamond which had been

nicknamed, to match its owner, “the Western Star.” Much, true and untrue, had

been written about this famous stone which was reported to be insured for the

enormous sum of fifty thousand pounds.

 

All these details passed rapidly through my mind as I joined with Poirot in

greeting our fair client.