He whipped out his pocket-book and extracted something from it which he held between his finger and thumb.
"Do you remember, Mademoiselle? You saw me take these hairs from the rug in the railway carriage."
Katherine leant forward, scrutinizing the hairs keenly.
Poirot nodded his head slowly several times.
"They suggest nothing to you, I see that, Mademoiselle. And yet—I think somehow that you see a good deal."
"I have had ideas," said Katherine slowly, "curious ideas. That is why I ask you what you were doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot."
"When I wrote to you—"
"From the Ritz?"
A curious smile came over Poirot's face.
"Yes, as you say, from the Ritz. I am a luxurious person sometimes—when a millionaire pays."