Hercule Poirot's eyebrows rose.

"Did she hit him?"

"Not she! Bullet went several yards

wide, I should say. What she did hit was

a miserable loafer who was creeping along

the Mews looking in the dustbins. Got

him through the fleshy part of the arm.

He raised Hell, of course, and the crowd

hustled him in here quick, got the windup

with all the blood that was spilling out of

him and came round and got me."

"Yes ?"

"I patched him up all right. It wasn't

serious. Then one or two of the men got

busy on him and in the end he consented

to accept a couple of five pound notes and

say no more about it. Suited him all right, poor devil. Marvellous stroke of luck." 294

"And you?33

"I had a bit more work to do. Mrs.

Grace herself was in raving hysterics by

that time. I gave her a shot of something

and packed her off to bed. There was

another girl who'd more or less passed

out — quite young she was, and I attended

to her too. By that time everyone was

slinking off as fast as they could leave.33

He paused.

"And then,33 said Poirot, "you had time

to think over the situation.33

"Exactly,33 said Stoddart. "If it was an

ordinary drunken binge, well, that would

be the end of it. But dope's different.33

"You are quite sure of your facts ?33

"Oh, absolutely. No mistaking it. It's

cocaine all right. I found some in a lacquer

box — they snuff it up, you know. Question

is, where does it come from ? I remembered

that you'd been talking the other day

about a big, new wave of drug-taking and

the increase of drug addicts.33

Hercule Poirot nodded. He said:

"The police will be interested in this

party tonight.33

Michael Stoddart said unhappily:

"That's just it....33

LOH20 295

Poirot looked at him with suddenly

awakened interest. He said:

"But you — you are not very anxious

that the police should be interested ?"

Michael Stoddart mumbled:

"Innocent people get mixed up in

things ... hard lines on them."

"Is it Mrs. Patience Grace for whom

you are solicitous ?"

"Good Lord, no. She's as hard-boiled

as they make them!"

Hercule Poirot said gently:

"It is, then, the other one — the girl ?"

Dr. Stoddart said:

"Of course, she's hard-boiled, too, in

a way. I mean, she'd describe herself as

hard-boiled. But she's really just very

young — a bit wild and all that — but it's

just kid foolishness. She gets mixed up in

a racket like this because she thinks it's

smart or modern or something like that.3'

A faint smile came to Poirot's lips. He

said softly:

"This girl, you have met her before

tonight ?"

Michael Stoddart nodded. He looked

very young and embarrassed.

"Ran across her in Mertonshire. At

296

the Hunt Ball. Her father's a retired

General--blood and thunder, shoot 'em

down--pukka Sahib--all that sort of