“My dear Monsieur Poirot ! ”
It was a soft purring voice - a voice used deliberately as an instrument - nothing impulsive or unpremeditated about it. Hercule Poirot swung round. He bowed. He shook hands ceremoniously .
There was something in his eye that was unusual. One would have said that this chance encounter
awakened in him an emotion that he seldom had occasion to feel .