“Aha! my friend,” said Poirot, coming forward and rubbing his hands. “You have

not got rid of me so easily, you see!”

 

“Finished with the inspector?” I asked.

 

“For the moment, yes. And you, you have seen all the patients?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Poirot sat down and looked at me, tilting his egg-shaped head on one side, with

the air of one who savors a very delicious joke.

 

“You are in error,” he said at last. “You have still one patient to see.”

 

“Not you?” I exclaimed in surprise.

 

“Ah, not me, _bien entendu_. Me, I have the health magnificent. No, to tell you

the truth, it is a little _complot_ of mine. There is some one I wish to see,

you understand—and at the same time it is not necessary that the whole village

should intrigue itself about the matter—which is what would happen if the lady

were seen to come to my house—for it is a lady. But to you she has already come

as a patient before.”

 

“Miss Russell!” I exclaimed.