it easy to make his getaway. We returned reluctantly, and Lord Yardly sent off one of the footmen post-haste to fetch the police.
Lady Yardly, aptly ministered to by Poirot, who is as good as a woman in these matters, was sufficiently recovered to be able to tell her story.
"I was just going to turn on the other light," she said, "when a man sprang on me from behind. He tore my necklace from my neck with such force that I fell headlong to the floor. As I fell I saw him disappearing through the side door. Then I realized by the pigtail and the embroidered robe that he was a Chinaman." She stopped with a shudder.
The butler reappeared. He spoke in a low voice to Lord Yardly.
"A gentleman from Mr. Hoffberg's, m'lord. He says you expect him."
"Good heavens!" cried the distracted nobleman. "I must see him, I suppose. No, not here, Mullings, in the library."
I drew Poirot aside.
"Look here, my dear fellow, hadn't we better get back to London?"
"You think so, Hastings? Why?"
"Well"—I coughed delicately—"things
