Unperturbed, Poirot gave her a card.
“Give that to your mistress. I think she will see me.”
It was one of his more ostentatious cards. The words “Private Detective” were printed in one corner. He had had them specially engraved for the purpose of obtaining interviews with the so-called fair sex. Nearly every woman, whether conscious of innocence or not, was anxious to have a look at a private detective and find out what he wanted.
Left ignominiously on the mat, Poirot studied the doorknocker with intense disgust at its unpolished condition.
“Ah! for Brasso and a rag,” he murmured to himself.