s news passed through so many hands。〃
He stopped； fixing Poirot with his eye； as though to make sure that the latter was prehending him。
〃Perfectly； perfectly；〃 said Poirot； nodding。
〃The name of the horse；〃 said M。 Papopolous； leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together； 〃is the Marquis。 I think； but I am not sure； that it is an English horse； eh； Zia？〃
〃I think so too；〃 said the girl。
Poirot got up briskly。
〃I thank you； Monsieur；〃 he said。 〃It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable。 Au revoir； Monsieur； and many thanks。〃
He turned to the girl。
〃Au revoir； Mademoiselle Zia。 It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris。 One would say that two years had passed at most。〃
〃There is a difference between sixteen and thirty…three；〃 said Zia ruefully。
〃Not in your case；〃 declared Poirot gallantly。 〃You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night。〃
〃We shall be delighted；〃 replied Zia。
〃Then we will arrange it；〃 declared Poirot； 〃and now … je me sauve。〃
Poirot walked along the street humming a little tune to himself。 He twirled his stick with a jaunty air； once or twice he smiled to himself quietly。 He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram。
He took some time in wording it； but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory。 It purported to deal with a missing scarf…pin； and was addressed to