“As far as that goes,” I began, and then stopped.
Poirot sat upright in his chair. His eyes sparkled.
“But yes? What is it that you would say?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve read some of Captain Hastings’s narratives, and I thought, why not try my hand at something of the same kind? Seemed a pity not to—unique opportunity—probably the only time I’ll be mixed up with anything of this kind.”
I felt myself getting hotter and hotter, and more and more incoherent, as I floundered through the above speech.
Poirot sprang from his chair. I had a moment’s terror that he was going to embrace me French fashion, but mercifully he refrained.
“But this is magnificent—you have then written down your impressions of the case as you went along?”
I nodded.
“Epatant!” cried Poirot. “Let me see them—this instant.”
I was not quite prepared for such a sudden demand. I racked my brains to remember certain details.