That is
good. He has more intelligence than would appear, this
long-faced Monsieur Lawrence of yours!"
I did not myself think very highly of Lawrence's intelligence;
but I forebore to contradict Poirot, and gently took him to task
for forgetting my instructions as to which were Cynthia's days
off.
"It is true. I have the head of a sieve. However, the other
young lady was most kind. She was sorry for my disappointment,
and showed me everything in the kindest way."
"Oh, well, that's all right, then, and you must go to tea with
Cynthia another day."
I told him about the letter.
"I am sorry for that," he said. "I always had hopes of that
letter. But no, it was not to be. This affair must all be
unravelled from within." He tapped his forehead. "These little
grey cells. It is 'up to them'--as you say over here." Then,
suddenly, he asked: "Are you a judge of finger-marks, my friend?"
"No," I said, rather surprised, "I know that there are no two
finger-marks alike, but that's as far as my science goes.
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