IX
Lady Hoggin said to her husband:
“Funny, this tonic¹ tastes quite different. It hasn’t got that bitter taste any more. I wonderwhy?”
Sir Joseph growled²:
“Chemist. Careless fellows. Make things up differently different times.”
Lady Hoggin said doubtfully:
“I suppose that must be it.”
“Of course it is. What else could it be?”
“Has the man found out anything about Shan Tung?”
“Yes. He got me my money back all right.”
“Who was it?”
“He didn’t say. Very close fellow, Hercule Poirot. But you needn’t worry.”
“He’s a funny little man, isn’t he?”
Sir Joseph gave a slight shiver and threw a sideways glance upwards³ as though he felt theinvisible presence of Hercule Poirot behind his right shoulder. He had an idea that he wouldalways feel it there.
He said:
“He’s a damned clever little devil!”
And he thought to himself:
“Greta can go hang! I’m not going to risk my neck for any damned platinum⁴ blonde!”

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