"No, not that, sir. But since then I've remembered what the young
gentlemen"--John and Lawrence were still the "young gentlemen" to
Dorcas--"call the 'dressing-up box.' It's up in the front attic, sir. A
great chest, full of old clothes and fancy dresses, and what not. And it
came to me sudden like that there might be a green dress amongst them.
So, if you'd tell the Belgian gentleman----"

"I will tell him, Dorcas," I promised.

"Thank you very much, sir. A very nice gentleman he is, sir. And quite
a different class from them two detectives from London, what goes prying
about, and asking questions. I don't hold with foreigners as a rule, but
from what the newspapers say I make out as how these brave Belges isn't
the ordinary run of foreigners, and certainly he's a most polite spoken
gentleman."

Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face upturned
to mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the old-fashioned
servant that is so fast dying out.

I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and look up
Poirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house, and at once gave
him Dorcas's message.

"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but no
matter--we will examine it all the same."

We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in the
hall, and we went straight up to the attic.

Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded with
brass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable type of
garment.

Poirot bundled everything out on the floor with scant ceremony. There
were one or two green fabrics of varying shades; but Poirot shook his
head over them all. He seemed somewhat apathetic in the search, as
though he expected no great results from it. Suddenly he gave an
exclamation.

"What is it?"

"Look!"

The chest was nearly empty, and there, reposing right at the bottom, was
a magnificent black beard.

"Oho!" said Poirot. "Oho!" He turned it over in his hands, examining it
closely. "New," he remarked. "Yes, quite new."

After a moment's hesitation, he replaced it in the chest, heaped all
the other things on top of it as before, and made his way briskly
downstairs. He went straight to the pantry, where we found Dorcas busily
polishing her silver.

Poirot wished her good morning with Gallic politeness, and went on:

"We have been looking through that chest, Dorcas. I am much obliged to
you for mentioning it.