Chapter 1 The Letter

It was in June of 1935 that I came home from my ranch¹ in South Americafor a stay of about six months. It had been a difficult time for usoutthere. Like every one else, we had suffered from world depression. Ihad various affairs to see to in England that I felt could only besuccessfulif a personal touch was introduced. My wife remained to managethe ranch.
I need hardly say that one of my first actions on reaching Englandwas to look up my old friend, Hercule Poirot.
I found him installed in one of the newest type of service flats inLondon. I accused him (and he admitted the fact) of having chosen thisparticular building entirely² on account of its strictly³ geometricalpearance and proportions.
"But yes, my friend, it is of a most pleasing symmetry, do you notfind it so?"I said that I thought there could be too much squareness and, alludingto an old j oke, I asked if in this super-modern hostelry they managedto induce hens to lay square eggs?
Poirot laughed heartily⁴.
"Ah, you remember that? Alas⁵! no--science has not yet induced thehens to conform to modern tastes, they still lay eggs of different sizesand colours! "I examined my old friend with an affectionate eye. He was lookingwonderfully well--hardly a day older than when I had last seen him.
"You' re looking in fine fettle, Poirot, " I said. "You' ve hardly agedat all. In fact, if it were possible, I should say that you had fewergreyhairs than when I saw you last. "
Poirot beamed on me.
"And why is that not possible? It is quite true. ""Do you mean your hair is turning from grey to black instead offrom black to grey?""Precisely⁶. "
"But surely that' s a scientific impossibility! ""Not at all. ""But that' s very extraordinary. It seems against nature. ""As usual, Hastings, you have the beautiful and unsuspicious mind.
Years do not change that in you! You perceive a fact and mention thesolution of it in the same breath without noticing that you are doingSO! "I stared at him puzzled.

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