Murder in the Mews

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‘Penny for the guy, sir?’

A small boy with a grimy face grinned ingratiatingly.

‘Certainly not!’ said Chief Inspector Japp. ‘And, look here, my lad—’

A short homily followed. The dismayed urchin beat a precipitate retreat, remarking briefly and succinctly to his youthful friends:

‘Blimey, if it ain’t a cop all togged up!’

The band took to its heels, chanting the incantation:

Remember, remember The fifth of November Gunpowder treason and plot. We see no reason Why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot.

The chief inspector’s companion, a small, elderly man with an egg-shaped head and large, military-looking moustaches, was smiling to himself.

‘Très bien, Japp,’ he observed. ‘You preach the sermon very well! I congratulate you!’

‘Rank excuse for begging, that’s what Guy Fawkes’ Day is!’ said Japp.

‘An interesting survival,’ mused Hercule Poirot. ‘The fireworks go up—crack—crack—long after the man they commemorate and his deed are forgotten.’