"What is the matter with Monsieur Poirot? He rushed past me
crying out: 'A garage! For the love of Heaven, direct me to a
garage, madame!' And, before I could answer, he had dashed out
into the street."
I hurried to the window. True enough, there he was, tearing down
the street, hatless, and gesticulating as he went. I turned to
Mary with a gesture of despair.
"He'll be stopped by a policeman in another minute. There he
goes, round the corner!"
Our eyes met, and we stared helplessly at one another.
"What can be the matter?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know. He was building card houses, when suddenly he
said he had an idea, and rushed off as you saw."
"Well," said Mary, "I expect he will be back before dinner."
But night fell, and Poirot had not returned.
CHAPTER XII
THE LAST LINK
POIROT'S abrupt departure had intrigued us all greatly. Sunday
morning wore away, and still he did not reappear. But about
three o'clock a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside drove us
to the window, to see Poirot alighting from a car, accompanied by
Japp and Summerhaye.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278