This is my
specially sharpened scimitar, and it's off with your head if I'm
at all displeased with you!' Miss Cynthia, she was what they call
an Apache, or some such name--a Frenchified sort of cut-throat, I
take it to be. A real sight she looked. You'd never have
believed a pretty young lady like that could have made herself
into such a ruffian. Nobody would have known her."
"These evenings must have been great fun," said Poirot genially.
"I suppose Mr. Lawrence wore that fine black beard in the chest
upstairs, when he was Shah of Persia?"
"He did have a beard, sir," replied Dorcas, smiling. "And well I
know it, for he borrowed two skeins of my black wool to make it
with! And I'm sure it looked wonderfully natural at a distance.
I didn't know as there was a beard up there at all. It must have
been got quite lately, I think. There was a red wig, I know, but
nothing else in the way of hair. Burnt corks they use
mostly--though 'tis messy getting it off again. Miss Cynthia was
a nigger once, and, oh, the trouble she had.
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