He appeared to lose interest in us and retreated slowly up the hall. I followed Poirot outside.
"Eh bien, Hastings?" my friend demanded slyly. "Are you so sure now that delightful women always speak the truth?"
I did not reply.
Poirot had steered his way into Brompton Road before I asked him what he was going to do and where we were going.
"To the house agents, Hastings. I have a great desire to have a flat in Montagu Mansions. If I am not mistaken, several interesting things will take place there before long."
We were fortunate in our quest. No. 8, on the fourth floor, was to be let furnished at ten guineas a week. Poirot promptly took it for a month. Outside in the street again, he silenced my protests:
"But I make money nowadays! Why should I not indulge a whim? By the way, Hastings, have you a revolver?"
"Yes—somewhere," I answered, slightly thrilled. "Do you think———"
"That you will need it? It is quite possible. The idea pleases you, I see. Always the spectacular and romantic appeals to you."
