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II
At four-thirty Rowley Cloade reappeared.
“Any luck, M. Poirot?”
“But yes, Mr. Cloade, we go now to see an old friend of Captain Robert Underhay’s.”
“What?” Rowley’s mouth fell open. He stared at Poirot with the amazement a small boy
shows when a conjurer produces rabbits out of a hat. “But it’s incredible! I don’t understand
how you can do these things—why, it’s only a few hours.”
Poirot waved a deprecating hand and tried to look modest. He had no intention of revealing the
simplicity with which his conjuring trick had been done. His vanity was pleased to impress this
simple Rowley.
The two men went out together, and hailing a taxi they drove to Campden Hill.
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