26
Poirot did not have quite the uninterrupted twenty-four hours for which he had stipulated¹.
At twenty minutes past eleven on the following morning Egg walked in unannounced. To her amazement² she found the great detective engaged in building card houses. Her face showed such lively scorn that Poirot was impelled³ to defend himself.
“It is not, mademoiselle, that I have become childish in my old age. No. But the building of card houses, I have always found it most stimulating⁴ to the mind. It is an old habit of mine. This morning, first thing, I go out and buy the pack of cards. Unfortunately I make an error, they are not real cards. But they do just as well.”
Egg looked more closely at the erection on the table.
She laughed.
“Good heavens, they’ve sold you Happy Families.”
“What is that you say, the Happy Families?”
“Yes, it’s a game. Children play it in the nursery.”
“Ah, well, one can compose the houses just in the same manner.”
Egg had picked up some of the cards from the table and was looking at them affectionately.
“Master Bun, the baker’s son - I always loved him. And here’s Mrs. Mug, the milkman’s wife. Oh, dear, I suppose that’s me.”
“Why is that funny picture you, mademoiselle?”
“Because of the name.”
Egg laughed at his bewildered face and then began explaining. When she had finished he said:
“Ah, it was that that Sir Charles meant last night. I wondered ... Mugg - ah, yes, one says in slang, does one not, you are a mug -a fool? Naturally you would change your name. You would not like to be Lady Mugg, eh?”
Egg laughed. She said:
“Well, wish me happiness.”
“I do wish you happiness, mademoiselle. Not the brief happiness of youth, but the happiness that endures - the happiness that is built upon a rock.”
“I’ll tell Charles you call him a rock,” said Egg. “And now for what I came to see you about. I’ve been worrying and worrying about that cutting from the paper that Oliver dropped from his wallet. You know, the one Miss Wills picked up and handed back to him. It seems to me that either Oliver is telling a downright lie when he says he doesn’t remember its being there, or else it never was

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