“What I understand you to mean is, that in physical appearance I do not resemble a Hercules?” Dr. Burton’s eyes swept over Hercule Poirot, over his small neat person attired in striped trousers, correct black jacket and natty bow tie, swept up from his patent leather shoes to his egg-shaped head and the immense moustache that adorned his upper lip. “Frankly, Poirot,” said Dr. Burton, “you don’t! I gather,” he added,
