"Truly, that's exactly how it is. Every time I say: This is the end. But no, something new always arises! And I must confess, my friend, that I am not at all moved by retirement. If the little gray cells are not exercised, they rust."
"Indeed," I said. "Shall I assume you exercise them in moderation?"
"Exactly. I choose carefully. Nowadays, Hercule Poirot deals only with the crème de la crème of crime."
"And is there enough crème de la crème?"
"I have no complaints. Recently, I faced great danger."
"To fail?"
"No, no!" Poirot seemed shocked by my question. "But I… I, Hercule Poirot, was in danger of being killed." I let out a whistled breath of surprise. "A daring murderer!"
"I wouldn't say daring, rather careless," said Poirot. "Exactly that… careless. But let's not talk about it any further. You know, Hastings, I largely consider you my mascot."
"Really?" I said. "Meaning?"
Poirot did not answer my question directly. "As soon as I learned you were coming, I thought: Something will come up. Like in the old days, the two of us will hunt together. But if we are to do it, we must not deal with some commonplace case. It must be something…" he gestured enthusiastically, "…something recherché… something select… refined…" He pronounced that last, slightly vague word with particular pomp.