Stephen Carter cleared his throat. Unhurriedly but quite decisively he rose from the table.

‘Er–h’m–I have to–er–thank you, Mr Poirot. I owe you a great deal. You’ll excuse me, I’m sure, if I leave you. Tonight’s happenings have been–rather upsetting.’

Looking after his retreating figure, Pauline said violently:

‘I hate him. I’ve always thought it was–because of him that Iris killed herself. Or perhaps–Barton killed her. Oh, it’s all so hateful…’

Poirot said gently:

‘Forget, Mademoiselle…forget…Let the past go…Think only of the present…’

Pauline murmured, ‘Yes–you’re right…’

Poirot turned to Lola Valdez.

‘Señora, as the evening advances I become more brave. If you would dance with me now–’

‘Oh, yes, indeed. You are–you are ze cat’s whiskers, M. Poirot. I inseest on dancing with you.’

‘You are too kind, Señora.’

Tony and Pauline were left. They leant towards each other across the table.

‘Darling Pauline.’

‘Oh, Tony, I’ve been such a nasty spiteful spitfiring little cat to you all day. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Angel! This is Our Tune again. Let’s dance.’

They danced off, smiling at each other and humming softly:

There’s nothing like Love for making you miserable

There’s nothing like Love for making you blue

Depressed

Possessed

Sentimental

Temperamental

There’s nothing like Love

For getting you down.

There’s nothing like Love for driving you crazy

There’s nothing like Love for making you mad Abusive

Allusive

Suicidal

Homicidal

There’s nothing like Love

There’s nothing like Love…

The Harlequin Tea Set

The Harlequin Tea Set

Mr Satterthwaite clucked twice in vexation. Whether right in his assumption or not, he was more and more convinced that cars nowadays broke down far more frequently than they used to do. The only cars he trusted were old friends who had survived the test of time. They had their little idiosyncrasies, but you knew about those, provided for them, fulfilled their wants before the demand became too acute. But new cars! Full of new gadgets, different kinds of windows, an instrument panel newly and differently arranged, handsome in its glistening wood but being unfamiliar, your groping hand hovered uneasily over fog lights, windscreen wipers, the choke, etcetera. All these things with knobs in a place you didn’t expect them. And when your gleaming new purchase failed in performance, your local garage uttered the intensely irritating words: ‘Teething troubles. Splendid car, sir, these roadsters Super Superbos. All the latest accessories. But bound to have their teething troubles, you know. Ha, ha.’ Just as though a car was a baby.

But Mr Satterthwaite, being now of an advanced age, was strongly of the opinion that a new car ought to be fully adult. Tested, inspected, and its teething troubles already dealt with before it came into its purchaser’s possession.