Chapter 3 The Man with the Gold Tooth
It was a few days later, when we were sitting at breakfast, that Poirot flung across to me a letter that he had just opened.
‘Well, mon ami,’ he said. ‘What do you think of that?’
The note was from Lord Edgware and in stiff formal language it made an appointment for the following day at eleven.
I must say that I was very much surprised. I had taken Poirot’s words uttered lightly in a convivial¹ moment, and I had had no idea that he had actually taken steps to carry out his promise.
Poirot, who was very quick-witted, read my mind and his eyes twinkled a little.
‘But yes, mon ami, it was not solely² the champagne³.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘But yes – but yes – you thought to yourself, the poor old one, he has the spirit of the party, he promises things that he will not perform – that he has no intention of performing. But, my friend, the promises of Hercule Poirot are sacred.’
He drew himself up in a stately manner as he said the last words. ‘Of course. Of course. I know that,’ I said hastily. ‘But I thought that perhaps your judgment⁴ was slightly – what shall I say – influenced.’
‘I am not in the habit of letting my judgment be “influenced” as you call it, Hastings. The best and driest of champagne, the most golden-haired and seductive of women – nothing influences the judgment of Hercule Poirot. No, mon ami, I am interested – that is all.’
‘In Jane Wilkinson’s love affair?’
‘Not exactly that. Her love affair, as you call it, is a very commonplace business. It is a step in the successful career of a very beautiful woman. If the Duke of Merton had neither a title nor wealth his romantic likeness⁵ to a dreamy monk⁶ would no longer interest the lady. No, Hastings, what intrigues⁷ me is the

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