faultless evening clothes, the exquisite set of his
white tie, the exact symmetry of his hair parting,
the sheen of pomade on his hair, and the tortured
splendor of his famous mustaches--all combined
to paint the perfect picture of an inveterate dandy.
It was hard, at these moments, to take the little
man seriously.
It was about half-past eleven when Lady Chat-terton,
bearing down upon us, whisked Poirot
neatly out of an admiring group, and carried him
off--I need hardly say, with myself in tow.
"I want you to go into my little room upstairs,"
said Lady Chatterton rather breathlessly as soon
as she was out of earshot of her other guests.
"You know where it is, M. Poirot. You'll find
someone there who needs your help very badly--and
you will help her, I know. She's one of my
dearest friends--so don't say no."
Energetically leading the way as she talked,
Lady Chatterton flung open a door, exclaiming
THE MYSTERY OF THE I,GD.D CHEST 35
as she 'did so, "I've got him, Maruerita darling.
And he'll do anything you want. You ¢i!! help
Mrs. Clayton, won't you, M. Poirct?"
And taking the answer for grated, she with-drew
with the same energy that characterized all
her movements.
Mrs. Clayton had been sitting in a chair by
the window. She rose now and cme toward us.
Dressed in deep mourning, the dull black showed