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”
“
Good
Lord
,
Poirot
!
Do
you
know
,
I
’
d
give
a
considerable
sum
of
money
to
see
you
make
a
thorough
ass
of
yourself
—
just
for
once
.
You
’
re
so
confoundedly
conceited
!
”
“
Do
not
enrage
yourself
,
Hastings
.
In
verity
,
I
observe
that
there
are
times
when
you
almost
detest
me
!
Alas
,
I
suffer
the
penalties
of
greatness
!
”
The
little
man
puffed
out
his
chest
,
and
sighed
so
comically
that
I
was
forced
to
laugh
.
Tuesday
saw
us
speeding
to
Liverpool
in
a
first
-
class
carriage
of
the
L
.
&
N
.
W
.
R
.
Poirot
had
obstinately
refused
to
enlighten
me
as
to
his
suspicions
—
or
certainties
.
He
contented
himself
with
expressing
surprise
that
I
,
too
,
was
not
equally
au
fait
with
the
situation
.
I
disdained
to
argue
,
and
entrenched
my
curiosity
behind
a
rampart
of
pretended
indifference
.
Once
arrived
at
the
quay
alongside
which
lay
the
big
transatlantic
liner
,
Poirot
became
brisk
and
alert
.
Our
proceedings
consisted
in
interviewing
four
successive
stewards
and
inquiring
after
a
friend
of
Poirot
’
s
who
had
crossed
to
New
York
on
the
23rd
.
“
An
elderly
gentleman
,
wearing
glasses
.
A
great
invalid
,
hardly
moved
out
of
his
cabin
.
”
The
description
appeared
to
tally
with
one
Mr
.
Ventnor
who
had
occupied
the
cabin
C
24
which
was
next
to
that
of
Philip
Ridgeway
.
Although
unable
to
see
how
Poirot
had
deduced
Mr
.
Ventnor
’
s
existence
and
personal
appearance
,
I
was
keenly
excited
.
“
Tell
me
,
”
I
cried
,
“
was
this
gentleman
one
of
the
first
to
land
when
you
got
to
New
York
?
”
The
steward
shook
his
head
.
“
No
,
indeed
,
sir
,
he
was
one
of
the
last
off
the
boat
.
”
