“Just tell me one thing, Poirot. If, as you said, you could do all this sitting in your chair in London and could have got me and Dick Hardcastle to come to you there, why—oh, why, did you come down here at all?” “I told you, they make the reparation in my apartment.” “They would have lent you another apartment. Or you could have gone to the Ritz, you would have been more comfortable there than in the Curlew Hotel.” “Indubitably,” said Hercule Poirot. “The coffee here, mon dieu, the coffee!” “Well, then, why?” Hercule Poirot flew into a rage. “Eh bien, since you are too stupid to guess, I will
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