Well, very quickly I size him up. I tell him about the habits of certain tribes, the deadly poisons they use.
I explain how very rare and unusual it is that anything of this kind comes into the market.
He asks the price and I tell him.
It is my American price, not quite so high as formerly...
Alas? They have had the depression over there!... I wait for him to bargain, but straightaway he pays my price. I am stupefied.
It is a pity.
I might have asked more! I give him the blowpipe and the darts wrapped up in a parcel and he takes them away.
It is finished.
But afterwards, when I read in the paper of this astounding murder, I wonder - yes, I wonder very much. And I communicate with the police."
"We are much obliged to you, M. Zeropoulos," said Fournier politely. "This blowpipe and dart - you think you would be able to identify them?
At the moment they are in London, you understand, but an opportunity will be given you of identifying them."
"The blowpipe was about so long -" M. Zeropoulos measured a space on his desk. "And so thick - you see, like this pen of mine.
It was of a light color.
There were four darts.
They were long pointed thorns, slightly discolored at the tips, with a little fluff of red silk on them."
"Red silk?" asked Poirot keenly.
"Yes, monsieur.
A cerise red, somewhat faded."
"That is curious," said Fournier. "You are sure that there was not one of them with a black-and-yellow fluff of silk?"
"Black and yellow?
No, monsieur." The dealer shook his head.
Fournier glanced at Poirot. There was a curious satisfied smile on the little man's face.
Fournier wondered why. Was it because Zeropoulos was lying? Or was it for some other reason?
Fournier said doubtfully: "It is very possible that this blowpipe and dart have nothing whatever to do with the case.
It is just one chance in fifty, perhaps.
Nevertheless, I should like as full a description as possible of this American."
Zeropoulos spread out a pair of Oriental hands.
"He was just an American.
His voice was in his nose.
He could not speak French.
He was chewing the gum.
He had tortoise-shell glasses.
He was tall and, I think, not very old."
"Fair or dark?"
"I could hardly say.
He had his hat on."
"Would you know him again if you saw him?"
Zeropoulos seemed doubtful.
"I could not say.
So many Americans come and go. He was not remarkable in any way."
Fournier showed him the collection of snapshots, but without avail.
None of them, Zeropoulos thought, was the man. "Probably a wild-goose chase," said Fournier as they left the shop.
"It is possible, yes," agreed Poirot. "But I do not think so.
The price tickets were of the same shape and there are one or two points of interest about the story and about M. Zeropoulos' remarks.
And now, my friend, having been upon one wild-goose chase, indulge me and come upon another."
"Where to?"
"To the Boulevard des Capucines."
"Let me see. That is -"
"The office of Universal Air Lines."
"Of course.