aughed.

"Discipline must be maintained?"

"Exactly. Come out on our little balcony. You can see all the outside
wards there."

I followed Cynthia and her friend and they pointed out the different
wards to me. Lawrence remained behind, but after a few moments Cynthia
called to him over her shoulder to come and join us. Then she looked at
her watch.

"Nothing more to do, Nibs?"

"No."

"All right. Then we can lock up and go."

I had seen Lawrence in quite a different light that afternoon. Compared
to John, he was an astoundingly difficult person to get to know. He was
the opposite of his brother in almost every respect, being unusually shy
and reserved. Yet he had a certain charm of manner, and I fancied that,
if one really knew him well, one could have a deep affection for him.
I had always fancied that his manner to Cynthia was rather constrained,
and that she on her side was inclined to be shy of him. But they were
both gay enough this afternoon, and chatted together like a couple of
children.

As we drove through the village, I remembered that I wanted some stamps,
so accordingly we pulled up at the post office.

As I came out again, I cannoned into a little man who was just entering.
I drew aside and apologised, when suddenly, with a loud exclamation, he
clasped me in his arms and kissed me warmly.

"Mon ami Hastings!" he cried. "It is indeed mon ami Hastings!"

"Poirot!" I exclaimed.

I turned to the pony-trap.

"This is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is my old
friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years."

"Oh, we know Monsieur Poirot," said Cynthia gaily. "But I had no idea he
was a friend of yours."

"Yes, indeed," said Poirot seriously. "I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. It
is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here." Then,
as I looked at him inquiringly: "Yes, my friend, she had kindly extended
hospitality to seven of my countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from
their native land. We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude."

Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than
five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head
was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on
one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of
his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have
caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dan