liked Michael Stoddart, liked the shy

friendliness of his grin, was amused by his

naive interest in crime, and respected him

as a hard-working and shrewd man in his

chosen profession.

"I don't like bothering you --" the

voice went on and hesitated.

"But something is bothering you^ suggested Hercule Poirot acutely.

"Exactly." Michael Stoddart's voice

sounded relieved. "Hit it in one!"

"Eh bien, what can I do for you, my

friend ?"

Stoddart sounded diffident. He stammered

a little when he answered.

291

"I suppose it would be awful c-c-cheek if

I asked you to come round at this time of

night.... B-b-but I'm in a bit of a jj-jam."

"Certainly I will come. To your house ?"

"No --as a matter of fact I'm at the

Mews that runs along behind. Conningby

Mews. The number is 17. Could you really

come? Pd be no end grateful."

"I arrive immediately," replied Hercule

Poirot.

II

Hercule Poirot walked along the dark

Mews looking up at the numbers. It was

past one o'clock in the morning and for

the most part the Mews appeared to have

gone to bed, though there were still lights

in one or two windows.

As he reached 17, its door opened and

Dr. Stoddart stood looking out.

"Good man!" he said. "Come up, will

you ?"

A small ladder-like stairway led to the

upper floor. Here, on the right, was a

fairly big room, furnished with divans, rugs, triangular silver cushions and large numbers of bottles and glasses.

Everything was more or less in con292

fusion, cigarette ends were everywhere

and there were many broken glasses.

"Ha!" said Hercule Poirot. ^Mon cher

Watson, I deduce that there has been here

a party!"

"There's been a party all right," said

Stoddart grimly. "Some party, I should

say!"

"You did not, then, attend it yourself?"

"No, I'm here strictly in my professional

capacity."

"What happened ?"

Stoddart said:

"This place belongs to a woman called

Patience Grace — Mrs. Patience Grace."

"It sounds," said Poirot, "a charming

old-world name."

"There's nothing charming or old-world

about Mrs. Grace. She's good-looking in

a tough sort of way. She's got through a

couple of husbands, and now she's got a

boy friend whom she suspects of trying

to run out on her. They started this party

on drink and they finished it on dope—

cocaine, to be exact. Cocaine is stuff that

starts off making you feel just grand and

with everything in the garden lovely. It

peps you up and you feel you can do twice

293

as much as you usually do. Take too much

of it and you get violent mental excitement, delusions and delirium. Airs. Grace had a violent quarrel with her boy friend, an

unpleasant person by the name of Hawker.

Result, he walked out on her then and

there, and she leaned out of the window

and took a pot-shot at him with a brandnew

revolver that someone had been fool

enough to give her."