"I suppose there's some one in my old rooms?" I asked at last, when we had calmed down somewhat. "I'd love to put up here again with you."
Poirot's face changed with startling suddenness.
"Mon Dieu! but what a chance épouvantable. Regard around you, my friend."
For the first time I took note of my surroundings. Against the wall stood a vast ark of a trunk of prehistoric design. Near to it were placed a number of suit-cases, ranged neatly in order of size from large to small. The inference was unmistakable.
"You are going away?"
"Yes."
"Where to?"
"South America."
"What?"
"Yes, it is a droll farce, is it not? It is to Rio I go, and every day I say to myself, I will write nothing in my letters—but oh! the surprise of the good Hastings when he beholds me!"