“Quite ready now, Mr. Ratchett.”
The elder man grunted an assent and passed out.
“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “What do you think of those two?”
“They are Americans,” said M. Bouc.
“Assuredly they are Americans. I meant what did you think of their personalities?”
“The young man seemed quite agreeable.”
“And the other?”
“To tell you the truth, my friend, I did not care for him. He produced on me an unpleasant impression. And you?”
Hercule Poirot was a moment before replying.
“When he passed me in the restaurant,” he said at last, “I had a curious impression. It was as though a wild animal—an animal savage, but savage! you understand—had passed me by.”
“And yet he looked altogether of the most respectable.”
“Précisément! The body—the cage—is everything of the most respectable—but through the bars, the wild animal looks out.”
“You are fanciful, mon vieux,” said M. Bouc.