"What is it you want, monsieur?" said Poirot.
The man opened his lips and spoke in a queer mechanical voice.
"M. Hercule Poirot, 14 Farraway Street."
"Yes, yes; I am he."
The man did not seem to understand, and merely repeated in exactly the same tone:—
"M. Hercule Poirot, 14 Farraway Street."
Poirot tried him with several questions. Sometimes the man did not answer at all; sometimes he repeated the same phrase. Poirot made a sign to me to ring up on the telephone.
"Get Dr. Ridgeway to come round."
The doctor was in luckily; and as his house was only just round the corner, few minutes elapsed before he came bustling in.
"What's all this, eh?"