On a silver dish the Christmas pudding reposed in all its glory. A large football of a pudding, a piece of holly stuck in it like a triumphant flag and glorious flames of blue and red rising round it. There was a cheer and cries of ‘Ooh-ah.’

Hercule Poirot merely surveyed the portion on his plate with a rather curious expression on his face. A result, no doubt, of finding a cryptic note in his bedroom which had read,

DON'T EAT NONE OF THE PLUM PUDDING. ONE WHO WISHES YOU WELL.