If I am not mistaken, there is a well-known story according to which a young writer, determined to give his story a strong and original start that would capture and hold the attention even of the most blasé publisher, wrote the following phrase: "Horn! exclaimed the duchess." Quite paradoxically, my own story begins in the same way. The only difference is that the lady who uttered that word was not a duchess. It all started one day in early June. I had traveled to Paris for business reasons and was returning on the morning train to London, where I was still living with my old friend, the veteran Belgian detective Hercule Poirot. The Calais Express carried very few passengers – in fact, the compartment of the carriage I was in hosted only one other person. I had left my hotel somewhat hastily and was busy reassuring myself that I had taken all my belongings when the train departed.
Until that moment, I had barely noticed my fellow traveler, but now a word came to abruptly remind me of her presence, as she jumped up from her seat, lowered the window, and stuck her head out, pulling it back a moment later with the sharp and intense "Horn!". Well, I am a man of old principles. I believe that a woman should behave as befits a woman. The sight of the modern, neurotic girl who does not rest from morning till night, smokes like a chimney, and uses expressions that would make even a stevedore blush, bothers me! I raised my head slightly frowning and saw a charming, cheeky face, adorned with an elegant red hat. Thick dark curls covered both ears. I estimated she was a little older than seventeen, but her face was covered with powder and her lips had a completely unnatural scarlet color.