The door opened after just the right interval. A
perfect specimen of the genus butler stood out-lined
against the lighted hall.
"Mr. Benedict Farley?" asked Hercule Poirot.
The impersonal glance surveyed him from head
to foot, inoffensively but effectively.
"Eh gros et en dtail," thought Hercule Poirot
to himself with appreciation.
"You have an appointment, sir?" asked the
suave voice.
THE DREAM
147
"Yes."
"Your name, sir?"
"M. Hercule Poirot."
The butler bowed and drew back. Hercule Poi-rot
entered the house. The butler closed the door
behind him.
But there was yet one more formality before the
deft hands took hat and stick from the visitor.
"You will excuse me, sir. I was to ask for a
letter."
With deliberation Poirot took from his pocket
the folded letter and handed it to the butler. The
latter gave it a mere glance, then returned it with a
bow. Hercule Poirot returned it to his pocket. Its
contents were simple.
Northway House, W.8.
M. HERCULE POIROT.
DEAR SIR,