“What do you think, mon ami?” He looked half ashamed, half excited. “The diamond of Miss Marvell, it has been stolen.”
“What?” I cried, springing up. “And what about the ‘full of the moon’ now?” Poirot hung his head. “When did this happen?”
“This morning, I understand.”
I shook my head sadly. “If only you had listened to me. You see I was right.”
“It appears so, mon ami,” said Poirot cautiously. “Appearances are deceptive, they say, but it certainly appears so.”
As we hurried in a taxi to the Magnificent, I puzzled out the true inwardness of the scheme.
“That ‘full of the moon’ idea was clever. The whole point of it was to get us to concentrate on the Friday, and so be off our guard beforehand. It is a pity you did not realize that.”
“Ma foi!” said Poirot airily, his nonchalance quite restored after its brief eclipse. “One cannot think of everything!”
I felt sorry for him. He did so hate failure of any kind.
“Cheer up,” I said consolingly. “Better luck next time.”