"
Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face
upturned to mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the
old-fashioned servant that is so fast dying out.
I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and
look up Poirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house,
and at once gave him Dorcas's message.
"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but
no matter--we will examine it all the same."
We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in
the hall, and we went straight up to the attic.
Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded
with brass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable
type of garment.
Poirot bundled everything out on the floor with scant ceremony.
There were one or two green fabrics of varying shades; but Poirot
shook his head over them all. He seemed somewhat apathetic in
the search, as though he expected no great results from it.
Suddenly he gave an exclamation.
"What is it?"
"Look!"
The chest was nearly empty, and there, reposing right at the
bottom, was a magnificent black beard.
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