IV. The Mystery of Hunter’s Lodge

           “Afterall,”murmuredPoirot,“itispossiblethatIshallnotdiethistime.”

           Comingfromaconvalescentinfluenzapatient,Ihailedtheremarkasshowingabeneficialoptimism.Imyselfhadbeenthefirstsuffererfromthedisease.Poirotinhisturnhadgonedown.Hewasnowsittingupinbed,proppedupwithpillows,hisheadmuffledinawoollenshawl,andwasslowlysippingaparticularlynoxioustisanewhichIhadpreparedaccordingtohisdirections.Hiseyerestedwithpleasureuponaneatlygraduatedrowofmedicinebottleswhichadornedthemantelpiece.

           “Yes,yes,”mylittlefriendcontinued.“OncemoreshallIbemyselfagain,thegreatHerculePoirot,theterrorofevil-doers!Figuretoyourself,monami,thatIhavealittleparagraphtomyselfinSocietyGossip.Butyes!Hereitis!‘Goit—criminals—allout!HerculePoirot—andbelieveme,girls,he’ssomeHercules!—ourownpetsocietydetectivecan’tgetagriponyou.’Causewhy?’Causehe’sgotlagrippehimself’!”

           Ilaughed.

           “Goodforyou,Poirot.Youarebecomingquiteapubliccharacter.Andfortunatelyyouhaven’tmissedanythingofparticularinterestduringthistime.”

           “Thatistrue.ThefewcasesIhavehadtodeclinedidnotfillmewithanyregret.”

           Ourlandladystuckherheadinatthedoor.

           “There’sagentlemandownstairs.SayshemustseeMonsieurPoirotoryou,Captain.Seeingashewasinagreatto-do—andwithallthatquitethegentleman—Ibroughtup’iscard.”

           Shehandedmethebitofpasteboard.“Mr.RogerHavering,”Iread.