I would have questioned him further, but we were just coming into the little town of Merlinville, and we slowed up to inquire the way to the Villa Geneviève.
“Straight on, monsieur, through the town. The Villa Geneviève is about half a mile the other side. You cannot miss it. A big Villa, overlooking the sea.”
We thanked our informant, and drove on, leaving the town behind. A fork in the road brought us to a second halt. A peasant was trudging towards us, and we waited for him to come up to us in order to ask the way again. There was a tiny Villa standing right by the road, but it was too small and dilapidated to be the one we wanted. As we waited, the gate of it swung open and a girl came out.
The peasant was passing us now, and the driver leaned forward from his seat and asked for direction.
“The Villa Geneviève? Just a few steps up this road to the right, monsieur. You could see it if it were not for the curve.”
The chauffeur thanked him, and started the car again. My eyes were fascinated by the girl who still stood, with one hand on the gate, watching us. I am an admirer of beauty, and here was one whom nobody could have passed without remark. Very tall, with the proportions of a young goddess, her uncovered golden head gleaming in the sunlight, I swore to myself that she was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. As we swung up the rough road, I turned my head to look after her.
“By Jove, Poirot,” I exclaimed, “did you see that young goddess.”
Poirot raised his eyebrows.
“Ça commence!” he murmured. “Already you have seen a goddess!”
“But, hang it all, wasn’t she?”
“Possibly. I did not remark the fact.”
“Surely you noticed her?”
“Mon ami, two people rarely see the same thing.
