Work Text:
Japp stomps away from the Travellers’ camp with a scowl on his face.
“Nothing,” he grunts in response to Poirot’s inquiring look. “Of course. What can you expect from those people?”
“‘Those people’, Chief Inspector?”
Poirot’s soft, precise voice stops him in his tracks.
“People with no money and no house in which to live, who speak the foreign language and observe the foreign traditions?”
“Come on, Poirot, you know I didn’t mean … ”
“It is perhaps fortunate, my friend, that you never saw me when I first emigrated here.”
Japp’s ears turn red under his hat as he walks ahead.