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"Realize，Hastings，that in the ordinary course of events those threeseparate dramas would never have touched each other. They would have pursued their course uninfluenced by each other.Thepermutations and combinations of life，Hastings-I never cease to befascinated by them." "This is Paddington，"was the only answer I made. It was time，I felt，that someone picked the bubble. On our arrival at Whitehaven Mansions we were told that a gentleman waswaiting to see Poirot. I expected it to be Franklin，or perhaps Japp，but to my astonishment itturned out to be none other than Donald Fraser.
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He seemed very embarrassed and his inarticulateness was more noticeablethan ever. Poirot did not press him to come to the point of his visit，but insteadsuggested sandwiches and a glass of wine. Until these made their appearance he monopolized the conversation，explaining where we had been，and speaking with kindliness and feeling ofthe invalid woman. Not until we had finished the sandwiches and sipped the wine did he givethe conversation a personal turn. "You have come from Bexhill，Mr Fraser?" "Yes." "Any success with Milly Higley?"
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