“I’ve been looking for you,” I remarked untruthfully.
“Have you?”
“Yes. The truth is, I’ve got a message for you—from Poirot.”
“Yes?”
“He told me to wait until I was alone with you,” I said, dropping my voice significantly, and watching him intently out of the corner of my eye. I have always been rather good at what is called, I believe, creating an atmosphere.
“Well?”
There was no change of expression in the dark melancholic face. Had he any idea of what I was about to say?
“This is the message.” I dropped my voice still lower. “‘Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.’”
“What on earth does he mean?” Lawrence stared at me in quite unaffected astonishment.
“Don’t you know?”