“Guess again,” said Caroline with intense complacency.

 

I guessed several times, working slowly through all the members of Caroline’s

Intelligence Corps. My sister received each guess with a triumphant shake of the

head. In the end she volunteered the information herself.

 

“M. Poirot!” she said. “Now what do you think of that?”

 

I thought a good many things of it, but I was careful not to say them to

Caroline.

 

“Why did he come?” I asked.

 

“To see me, of course. He said that knowing my brother so well, he hoped he

might be permitted to make the acquaintance of his charming sister—your charming

sister, I’ve got mixed up, but you know what I mean.”

 

“What did he talk about?” I asked.

 

“He told me a lot about himself and his cases. You know that Prince Paul of

Mauretania—the one who’s just married a dancer?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I saw a most intriguing paragraph about her in Society Snippets the other day,