He gave the same short laugh again.
“C’est dommage,” he said, and went out.
CHAPTER XIII
THE GOOSE QUILL
That evening, at Poirot’s request, I went over to his house after dinner. Caroline saw me depart with visible reluctance. I think she would have liked to have accompanied me.
Poirot greeted me hospitably. He had placed a bottle of Irish whisky (which I detest) on a small table, with a soda water siphon and a glass. He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a favorite beverage of his, I discovered later.
He inquired politely after my sister, whom he declared to be a most interesting woman.
“I’m afraid you’ve been giving her a swelled head,” I said dryly. “What about Sunday afternoon?”
He laughed and twinkled.
“I always like to employ the expert,” he remarked obscurely, but he refused to explain the remark.