A few minutes later he came into the bedroom and demanded: ‘Mais qu’est ce que vous faites là?’ ‘I was packing for you. I thought it would save time.’ ‘Vous éprouvez trop d’émotion, Hastings. It affects your hands and your wits. Is that a way to fold a coat? And regard what you have done to my pyjamas. If the hairwash breaks what will befall them?’ ‘Good heavens, Poirot,’ I cried, ‘this is a matter of life and death. What does it matter what happens to our clothes?’ ‘You have no sense of proportion, Hastings. We cannot catch a train earlier than the time that it leaves, and to ruin one’s
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Bless them both
