The eyes of the two men met.
"A well-known horse, eh?"
"No," said Poirot; "it is what our friends, the English, call a dark horse."
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous thoughtfully.
"Now we must step across to the Casino and have our little flutter at the roulette table," cried Poirot gaily.
At the Casino the party separated, Poirot devoting himself solely to Zia, whilst Papopolous himself drifted away.
Poirot was not fortunate, but Zia had a run of good luck, and had soon won a few thousand francs.
"It would be as well," she observed drily to Poirot, "if I stopped now.”
Poirot's eyes twinkled.
"Superb!" he exclaimed. "You are the daughter of your father, Mademoiselle Zia. To know when to stop. Ah! that is the art."
He looked round the rooms.
"I cannot see your father anywhere about," he remarked carelessly. "I will fetch your cloak for you, Mademoiselle, and we will go out in the gardens."
He did not, however, go straight to the cloak-room. His sharp eyes had seen but a little while before the departure of M. Papopolous. He was anxious to know what had become of the wily Greek. He ran him to earth unexpectedly in the big entrance hall. He was standing by one of the pillars, talking to a lady who had just arrived. The lady was Mirelle.
Poirot sidled unostentatiously round the room He arrived at the other side of the pillar, and unnoticed by
