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He dragged me back – just in time. A tree had crashed down on to the side walk, just missing us. Poirot stared at it, pale and upset. “It was a near thing that! But clumsy, all the same – for I had no suspicion – at least hardly any suspicion. Yes, but for my quick eyes, the eyes of a cat, Hercule Poirot might now be crushed out of existence – a terrible calamity for the world. And you, too, mon ami – though that would not be such a national catastrophe.” “Thank you,” I said coldly.
