The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories (Hercule Poirot 21)

would have been recognized as one of the world's

richest men. But money can quench publicity as

well as flaunt it. Benedict Farley, that eccentric

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millionaire, chose not to advertise his choice of

residence. He himself was rarely seen, seldom

making a public appearance. From time to time he

appeared at board meetings, his lean figure,

beaked nose, and rasping voice easily dominating

the assembled directors. Apart from that, he was

just a well-known figure of legend. There were his

strange meannesses, his incredible generosities, as

well as more personal detailsmhis famous patch-work

dressing-gown, now reputed to be twenty-eight

years old, his invariable diet of cabbage soup

and aviare, his hatred of cats. All these things the

public knew.

Hercule Poirot knew them also. t was all he did

know of the man he was about to visit. The letter

which was in his coat pocket told him little more.

After surveying this melancholy landmark of a

past age for a minute or two in silence, he walked

up the steps to the front door and pressed the bell,

glancing as he did so at theneat wrist-watch which

had at last replaced an earlier favoritemthe large

turnip-faced watch of earlier days. Yes, it was ex-actly

nine-thirty. As ever, Hercule Poirot was ex-act

to the minute.