“Her name is Stella,” I said stiffly, “but I don’t see——”
Poirot interrupted me with a tremendous chuckle. Something seemed to be amusing him vastly.
“And Stella means a star, does it not? Famous!”
“What on earth——”
“And stars give light! Voilà! Calm yourself, Hastings. Do not put on that air of injured dignity. Come, we will go to Montagu Mansions and make a few inquiries.”
I accompanied him, nothing loath. The Mansions were a handsome block of buildings in excellent repair. A uniformed porter was sunning himself on the threshold, and it was to him that Poirot addressed himself:
“Pardon, but could you tell me if a Mr. and Mrs. Robinson reside here?”
The porter was a man of few words and apparently of a sour or suspicious disposition. He hardly looked at us and grunted out:
“No. 4. Second floor.”
“I thank you. Can you tell me how long they have been here?”