“You can’t take that for a walk.”
Bob sighed, turned and slowly ejected the ball inside the gate. He looked at it anxiously then passed through.
He looked up at me.
“If you say so, master, I suppose it’s all right.”
I drew a long breath.
“My word, Poirot, it’s good to have a dog again.”
“The spoils of war,” said Poirot. “But I would remind you, my friend, that it was to me that Miss Lawson presented Bob, not to you.”
“Possibly,” I said. “But you’re not really any good with a dog, Poirot. You don’t understand dog psychology! Now Bob and I understand each other perfectly, don’t we?”
“Woof,” said Bob in energetic assent.
* * *