CONTENTS
I
I was standing at the window of Poirot’srooms looking out idly on the street below.
“That’s queer,” I ejaculated suddenly beneathmy breath.
“What is, mon ami?” asked Poirot placidly,from the depths of his comfortable chair.
“Deduce, Poirot, from the following facts!Here is a young lady, richly dressed—fashionablehat, magnificent furs. She is coming alongslowly, looking up at the houses as she goes.Unknown to her, she is being shadowed by threemen and a middle-aged woman. They have justbeen joined by an errand boy who points afterthe girl, gesticulating as he does so. Whatdrama is this being played? Is the girl a crook,and are the shadowers detectives preparing toarrest her? Or are they the scoundrels, andare they plotting to attack an innocent victim?What does the great detective say?”
“The great detective, mon ami, chooses, as ever,the simplest course. He rises to see for himself.”And my friend joined me at the window.
In a minute he gave vent to an amused chuckle.
“As usual, your facts are tinged with yourincurable romanticism. That is Miss MaryMarvell, the film star. She is being followed bya bevy of admirers who have recognized her.And, en passant, my dear Hastings, she is quiteaware of the fact!”
I laughed.
“So all is explained! But you get no marksfor that, Poirot. It was a mere matter of recognition.”
“En vérité! And how many times have youseen Mary Marvell on the screen, mon cher?”
I thought.
“About a dozen times perhaps.”
“And I—once! Yet I recognize her