‘I looked at him,’ said the clerk who was telling us this, ‘and I saw at once what he meant. The eyes slanted up at the corners like an Oriental’s. I’d never noticed it before.’

‘Darn it all, man,’ roared Gregory Rolf, leaning forward, ‘do you notice it now?’

The man looked up at him and started.

‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I do.’ And indeed there was nothing even remotely Oriental about the frank brown eyes that looked into ours.

The Scotland Yard man grunted. ‘Bold customer. Thought the eyes might be noticed, and took the bull by the horns to disarm suspicion. He must have watched you out of the hotel, sir, and nipped in as soon as you were well away.’

‘What about the jewel-case?’ I asked.

‘It was found in the corridor of the hotel. Only one thing had been taken – “The Western Star”.’

We stared at each other – the whole thing was so bizarre, so unreal.

Poirot hopped briskly to his feet. ‘I have not been of much use, I fear,’ he said regretfully. ‘Is it permitted to see Madame?’

‘I guess she’s prostrated with the shock,’ exclaimed Rolf.

‘Then perhaps I might have a few words alone with you, monsieur?’

‘Certainly.’

In about five minutes Poirot reappeared.

‘Now, my friend,’ he said gaily. ‘To a post office. I have to send a telegram.’

‘Who to?’

‘Lord Yardly.’ He discounted further inquiries by slipping his arm through mine. ‘Come, come, mon ami. I know all that you feel about this terrible business. I have not distinguished myself! You, in my place, might have distinguished yourself. Bien! All is admitted. Let us forget it and have lunch.’

It was about four o’clock when we entered Poirot’s rooms. A figure rose from a chair by the window. It was Lord Yardly. He looked haggard and distraught.

‘I got your wire and came up at once. Look here, I’ve been round to Hoffberg, and they know nothing about that man of theirs last night, or the wire either. Do you think that –’

Poirot held up his hand.

‘My excuses! I sent that wire, and hired the gentleman in question.’

‘You – but why? What?’ The nobleman spluttered impotently.

‘My little idea was to bring things to a head,’ explained Poirot placidly.

‘Bring things to a head! Oh, my God!’ cried Lord Yardly.

‘And the ruse succeeded,’ said Poirot cheerfully. ‘Therefore, milord, I have much pleasure in returning you – this!’ With a dramatic gesture he produced a glittering object. It was a great diamond.

‘The Star of the East,’ gasped Lord Yardly. ‘But I don’t understand –’

‘No?’ said Poirot. ‘It makes no matter. Believe me, it was necessary for the diamond to be stolen. I promised you that it would be preserved to you, and I have kept my word. You must permit me to keep my little secret. Convey, I beg of you, the assurance of my deepest respect to Lady Yardly, and tell her how pleased I am to be able to restore her jewel to her. What beau temps, is it not? Good day, milord.’