s　news　passed　through　so　many　hands。〃

He　stopped；　fixing　Poirot　with　his　eye；　as　though　to　make　sure　that　the　latter　was　prehending　him。

〃Perfectly；　perfectly；〃　said　Poirot；　nodding。

〃The　name　of　the　horse；〃　said　M。　Papopolous；　leaning　back　and　joining　the　tips　of　his　fingers　together；　〃is　the　Marquis。　I　think；　but　I　am　not　sure；　that　it　is　an　English　horse；　eh；　Zia？〃

〃I　think　so　too；〃　said　the　girl。

Poirot　got　up　briskly。

〃I　thank　you；　Monsieur；〃　he　said。　〃It　is　a　great　thing　to　have　what　the　English　call　a　tip　from　the　stable。　Au　revoir；　Monsieur；　and　many　thanks。〃

He　turned　to　the　girl。

〃Au　revoir；　Mademoiselle　Zia。　It　seems　to　me　but　yesterday　that　I　saw　you　in　Paris。　One　would　say　that　two　years　had　passed　at　most。〃

〃There　is　a　difference　between　sixteen　and　thirty…three；〃　said　Zia　ruefully。

〃Not　in　your　case；〃　declared　Poirot　gallantly。　〃You　and　your　father　will　perhaps　dine　with　me　one　night。〃

〃We　shall　be　delighted；〃　replied　Zia。

〃Then　we　will　arrange　it；〃　declared　Poirot；　〃and　now　…　je　me　sauve。〃

Poirot　walked　along　the　street　humming　a　little　tune　to　himself。　He　twirled　his　stick　with　a　jaunty　air；　once　or　twice　he　smiled　to　himself　quietly。　He　turned　into　the　first　Bureau　de　Poste　he　came　to　and　sent　off　a　telegram。

He　took　some　time　in　wording　it；　but　it　was　in　code　and　he　had　to　call　upon　his　memory。　It　purported　to　deal　with　a　missing　scarf…pin；　and　was　addressed　to