CHAPTER 13. THE GOOSE QUILL
That evening, at Poirot’s request, I went over to his house after dinner. Caroline saw me depart with visible reluctance.
I think she would have liked to have accompanied me.
Poirot greeted me hospitably. He had placed a bottle of Irish whiskey (which I detest) on a small table, with a soda water siphon and a glass. He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a favourite beverage of his, I discovered later.
He inquired politely after my sister, whom he declared to be a most interesting woman.
‘ I’m afraid you’ve been giving her a swelled head,’ I said drily. ‘What about Sunday afternoon?’ He laughed and twinkled.
‘ I always like to employ the expert,’ he remarked obscurely, but he refused to explain the remark.
‘ You got all the local gos
