a good opportunity to deliver my message.
Otherwise, Poirot himself might relieve me of it. It was true that I did
not quite gather its purport, but I flattered myself that by Lawrence's
reply, and perhaps a little skillful cross-examination on my part, I
should soon perceive its significance. Accordingly I accosted him.

"I've been looking for you," I remarked untruthfully.

"Have you?"

"Yes. The truth is, I've got a message for you--from Poirot."

"Yes?"

"He told me to wait until I was alone with you," I said, dropping my
voice significantly, and watching him intently out of the corner of
my eye. I have always been rather good at what is called, I believe,
creating an atmosphere.

"Well?"

There was no change of expression in the dark melancholic face. Had he
any idea of what I was about to say?

"This is the message." I dropped my voice still lower. "'Find the extra
coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.'"

"What on earth does he mean?" Lawrence stared at me in quite unaffected
astonishment.

"Don't you know?"

"Not in the least. Do you?"

I was compelled to shake my head.

"What extra coffee-cup?"

"I don't know."

"He'd better ask Dorcas, or one of the maids, if he wants to know about
coffee-cups. It's their business, not mine. I don't know anything about
the coffee-cups, except that we've got some that are never used, which
are a perfect dream! Old Worcester. You're not a connoisseur, are you,
Hastings?"

I shook my head.

"You miss a lot. A really perfect bit of old china--it's pure delight to
handle it, or even to look at it."

"Well, what am I to tell Poirot?"

"Tell him I don't know what he's talking about. It's double Dutch to
me."

"All right."

I was moving off towards the house again when he suddenly called me
back.

"I say, what was the end of that message? Say it over again, will you?"

"'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Are you sure
you don't know what it means?" I asked him earnestly.

He shook his head.

"No," he said musingly, "I don't. I--I wish I did."

The boom of the gong sounded from the house, and we went in together.
Poirot had been asked by John to remain to lunch, and was already seated
at the table.

By tacit consent, all mention of the tragedy was barred. We conversed on
the war, and other outside topics. But after the cheese and biscuits had
been handed round, and Dorcas had left the room, Poirot suddenly leant
forward to Mrs