had occurred, but Poirot vetoed the plan, and insisted that the morning would be

time enough. I gave in rather grudgingly.

 

In the morning Poirot seemed strangely disinclined to stir out. I began to

suspect that, having made a mistake to start with, he was singularly loath to

proceed with the case. In answer to my persuasions, he pointed out, with

admirable common sense, that as the details of the affair at Yardly Chase were

already in the morning papers the Rolfs would know quite as much as we could

tell them. I gave way unwillingly.

 

Events proved my forebodings to be justified. About two o’clock, the telephone

rang. Poirot answered it. He listened for some moments, then with a brief

“_Bien, j’y serai_” he rang off, and turned to me.

 

“What do you think, _mon ami_?” He looked half ashamed, half excited. “The

diamond of Miss Marvell, it has been stolen.”

 

“What?” I cried, springing up. “And what about the ‘full of the moon’ now?”

Poirot hung his head. “When did this happen?”

 

“This morning, I understand.”

 

I shook my head sadly. “If only you had listened to me. You see I was right.”

 

“It appears so, _mon ami_,” said Poirot cautiously. “Appearances are deceptive,