‘Perhaps you’ve got an appointment with Carter here. The latest from the UN International situation now acute. The stolen plans must be found or war will be declared tomorrow!’

Pauline Weatherby said cuttingly:

‘Must you be so completely idiotic, Tony?’

‘Sorry, Pauline.’

Tony Chapell relapsed into crestfallen silence.

‘How severe you are, Mademoiselle.’

‘I hate people who play the fool all the time!’

‘I must be careful, I see. I must converse only of serious matters.’

‘Oh, no, M. Poirot. I didn’t mean you.’

She turned a smiling face to him and asked:

‘Are you really a kind of Sherlock Holmes and do wonderful deductions?’

‘Ah, the deductions–they are not so easy in real life. But shall I try? Now then, I deduce–that yellow irises are your favourite flowers?’

‘Quite wrong, M. Poirot. Lilies of the valley or roses.’

Poirot sighed.

‘A failure. I will try once more. This evening, not very long ago, you telephoned to someone.’

Pauline laughed and clapped her hands.

‘Quite right.’

‘It was not long after you arrived here?’

‘Right again. I telephoned the minute I got inside the doors.’

‘Ah–that is not so good. You telephoned before you came to this table?’

‘Yes.’

‘Decidedly very bad.’

‘Oh, no, I think it was very clever of you. How did you know I had telephoned?’

‘That, Mademoiselle, is the great detective’s secret. And the person to whom you telephoned–does the name begin with a P–or perhaps with an H?’

Pauline laughed.

‘Quite wrong. I telephoned to my maid to post some frightfully important letters that I’d never sent off. Her name’s Louise.’

‘I am confused–quite confused.’

The music began again.

‘What about it, Pauline?’ asked Tony.

‘I don’t think I want to dance again so soon, Tony.’

‘Isn’t that too bad?’ said Tony bitterly to the world at large.

Poirot murmured to the South American girl on his other side:

‘Señora, I would not dare to ask you to dance with me. I am too much of the antique.’

Lola Valdez said:

‘Ah, it ees nonsense that you talk there! You are steel young. Your hair, eet is still black!’

Poirot winced slightly.

‘Pauline, as your brother-in-law and your guardian,’ Barton Russell spoke heavily, ‘I’m just going to force you onto the floor! This one’s a waltz and a waltz is about the only dance I really can do.’

‘Why, of course, Barton, we’ll take the floor right away.’

‘Good girl, Pauline, that’s swell of you.’

They went off together. Tony tipped back his chair. Then he looked at Stephen Carter.

‘Talkative little fellow, aren’t you, Carter?’ he remarked. ‘Help to make a party go with your merry chatter, eh, what?’

‘Really, Chapell, I don’t know what you mean?’

‘Oh, you don’t–don’t you?’ Tony mimicked him.

‘My dear fellow.’

‘Drink, man, drink, if you won’t talk.’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Then I will.’