voice came more faintly but with an even greater
urgency.
"At
once.., it's life or death .... The Jarclin des
Cygnes. . . at once . . . table with yellow irises....
"
There
was a pause--a queer kind of gasp--the line
went dead.
Hercule
Poirot hung up. His face was puzzled. He
murmured between his teeth:
"There
is something here very curious."
In
the doorway of the Jardin des Cygnes, fat Luigi
hurried forward.
"Buona
sera, M. Poirot. You desire a table--yes?"
"No,
no,
my good Luigi. I seek here for some friends. I
will look round--perhaps they are not here yet.
Ah, let me see, that table there in the cor-ner with the
yellow irises--a little question by the way, if it
is not indiscreet. On all the other tables there are
tulips--pink tulips--why on that one
YELLOW IRIS
107
table do you have yellow iris?"