"Besides projecting his voice through the ether? Quite so. A curious method, surely, of announcing his safety?"

"Ah, M. Poirot, you are not an initiate. And how do we know what the circumstances are? Poor Captain Underhay (or is it Major Underhay) may be a prisoner somewhere in the dark interior of Africa. But if he could be found, M. Poirot. If he could be restored to his dear young Rosaleen. Think of her happiness! Oh, M. Poirot, I have been sent to you - surely, surely you will not refuse the behest of the spiritual world."

Poirot looked at her reflectively.

"My fees," he said softly, "are very expensive. I may say enormously expensive! And the task you suggest would not be easy."

"Oh dear - but surely - it is most unfortunate. I and my husband are very badly off - very badly off indeed. Actually my own plight is worse than my dear husband knows. I bought some shares - under spirit guidance - and so far they have proved very disappointing - in fact, quite alarming. They have gone right down and are now, I gather, practically unsaleable."

She looked at him with dismayed blue eyes.

"I have not dared to tell my husband. I simply tell you in order to explain how I am situated. But surely, dear M. Poirot, to reunite a young husband and wife - it is such a noble mission -"

"Nobility, chère Madame, will not pay steamer and railway and air travel fares. Nor will it cover the cost of long telegrams and cables, and the interrogations of witnesses."

"But if he is found - if Captain Underhay is found alive and well - then - well, I think I may safely say that, once that was accomplished, there - there would be no difficulty about - er - reimbursing you."

"Ah, he is rich, then, this Captain Underhay?"

"No. Well, no... But I can assure you - I can give you my word - that - that the money situation will not present difficulties."

Slowly Poirot shook his head.

"I am sorry, Madame. The answer is no."

He had a little difficulty in getting her to accept that answer.

When she had finally gone away, he stood lost in thought, frowning to himself.

He remembered now why the name of Cloade was familiar to him. The conversation at the club the day of the Air Raid came back to him. The booming boring voice of Major Porter, going on and on, telling a story to which nobody wanted to listen.

He remembered the rustle of a newspaper and Major Porter's suddenly dropped jaw and expression of consternation.

But what worried him was trying to make up his mind about the eager middle-aged lady who had just left him. The glib spiritualistic patter, the vagueness, the floating scarves, the chains and amulets jingling round her neck - and finally, slightly at variance with all this, that sudden shrewd glint in a pair of pale-blue eyes.