You're
not a connoisseur, are you, Hastings?"
I shook my head.
"You miss a lot. A really perfect bit of old china--it's pure
delight to handle it, or even to look at it."
"Well, what am I to tell Poirot?"
"Tell him I don't know what he's talking about. It's double
Dutch to me."
"All right."
I was moving off towards the house again when he suddenly called
me back.
"I say, what was the end of that message? Say it over again, will
you?"
" 'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Are you
sure you don't know what it means?" I asked him earnestly.
He shook his head.
"No," he said musingly, "I don't. I--I wish I did."
The boom of the gong sounded from the house, and we went in
together. Poirot had been asked by John to remain to lunch, and
was already seated at the table.
By tacit consent, all mention of the tragedy was barred. We
conversed on the war, and other outside topics. But after the
cheese and biscuits had been handed round, and Dorcas had left
the room, Poirot suddenly leant forward to Mrs.
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