“Dr. Sheppard, I have come to ask you to help me.”

 

“Of course he’ll help you, my dear,” said Caroline.

 

I don’t think Flora really wished Caroline to be present at the interview. She

would, I am sure, have infinitely preferred to speak to me privately. But she

also wanted to waste no time, so she made the best of it.

 

“I want you to come to The Larches with me.”

 

“The Larches?” I queried, surprised.

 

“To see that funny little man?” exclaimed Caroline.

 

“Yes. You know who he is, don’t you?”

 

“We fancied,” I said, “that he might be a retired hairdresser.”

 

Flora’s blue eyes opened very wide.

 

“Why, he’s Hercule Poirot! You know who I mean—the private detective.

 

They say he’s done the most wonderful things—just like detectives do in books. A

year ago he retired and came to live down here. Uncle knew who he was, but he

promised not to tell any one, because M. Poirot wanted to live quietly without