For Poirot, uttering a hoarse and inarticulate cry, again annihilated his masterpiece of cards and putting his hands over his eyes swayed backwards a… - Agatha Christie

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For Poirot, uttering a hoarse and inarticulate cry, again annihilated his masterpiece of cards and putting his hands over his eyes swayed backwards and forwards, apparently suffering the keenest agony. “Good heavens Poirot!” I cried. “What is the matter? Are you taken ill?” “No, no,” he gasped. “It is — it is — that I have an idea!”