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“
It
won
’
t
come
to
that
,
”
I
cried
,
stung
.
Poirot
shook
his
head
uncertainly
.
“
You
will
save
him
,
”
I
cried
positively
.
Poirot
glanced
at
me
dryly
.
“
Have
you
not
rendered
it
impossible
,
mon
ami
?
”
“
Some
other
way
,
”
I
muttered
.
“
Ah
!
Sapristi
!
But
it
is
miracles
you
ask
from
me
.
No
—
say
no
more
.
Let
us
instead
see
what
is
in
this
letter
.
”
And
he
drew
out
the
envelope
from
his
breast
pocket
.
His
face
contracted
as
he
read
,
then
he
handed
the
one
flimsy
sheet
to
me
.
