“You’ll stay the night?” said Lord Yardly.

 

“Oh, _milord_, I fear to incommode you. We have left our bags at the inn.”

 

“That’s all right.” Lord Yardly had his cue. “We’ll send down for them. No,

no—no trouble, I assure you.”

 

Poirot permitted himself to be persuaded, and sitting down by Lady Yardly, began

to make friends with the children. In a short time they were all romping

together, and had dragged me into the game.

 

“_Vous êtes bonne mère_,” said Poirot, with a gallant little bow, as the

children were removed reluctantly by a stern nurse.

 

Lady Yardly smoothed her ruffled hair.

 

“I adore them,” she said with a little catch in her voice.

 

“And they you—with reason!” Poirot bowed again.

 

A dressing-gong sounded, and we rose to go up to our rooms. At that moment the

butler entered with a telegram on a salver which he handed to Lord Yardly. The

latter tore it open with a brief word of apology. As he read it he stiffened

visibly.