" He went slowly out of the boat house, unhappy and displeased with himself. He, Hurcule Poirot, had been summoned to prevent a murder and he had not prevented it. It had happened. What was even more humiliating was that he had no real ideas, even now, as to what has actually happened. It was ignominious. And tomorrow, he must return to London, defeated. His ego was seriously deflated. Even his mustache drooped. "
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