Hercule Poirot drummed his fingers on his desk, trying vainly to control his impatience. He stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. It did not ring.
“For heaven’s sake, Poirot, what’s the matter?” Captain Hastings ventured.
“It’s this jewel robbery. I read about it in the Times,” Poirot said, tossing the paper to Captain Hastings. He missed, and the efficient Miss Lemon retrieved the newspaper from the floor and passed it to Captain Hastings.
“Ah yes,” Hastings said, “It was quite a robbery. The Majeska Emeralds, no less. Some lesser stuff, but a ring from that very collection. What’s the matter, Poirot?”
“The matter, as you call it, is that the telephone does not ring. It just sits there, mocking me. Why hasn’t Chief Inspector Japp called me to solve the case!” Drumming his fingers, he added, “And why would the Countess not have worn this ring at her own reception? It is not logical. Not logical at all!”