The cleaning of old Poirot took, literally speaking, days to accomplish. Such an encrusted case we had never seen; nor was it possible to go, otherwise than slowly, against his prejudices. One who, unless taken exactly the right way, considered everyone leagued with Nature to get the better of him, he had reached that state when the soul sticks its toes in and refuses to budge. A coachman--in civil life--a socialist, a freethinker, a wit, he was the apex of--shall we say?--determination. His moral being was encrusted with perversity, as his poor hands and feet with dirt. Oil was the only thing for him, and I, for one, used oil on him morally and physically, for months. He was a "character!" His left hand--which he was never tired of saying the "_majors_" had ruined ("_Ah! les cochons!_") by leaving it alone--was stiff in all its joints, so that the fingers would not bend; and the little finger of the right hand, "_le petit_," "_le coquin_," "_l'empereur_," as he would severally call it, was embellished by chalky excrescences. The old fellow had that peculiar artfulness which comes from life-long dealing with horses, and he knew exactly how far and how quickly it was advisable for him to mend in health. About the third day he made up his mind that he wished to remain with us at least until the warm weather came. For that it would be necessary--he concluded--to make a cheering amount of progress, but not too much. And this he set himself to do. He was convinced, one could see, that after Peace had been declared and compensation assured him, he would recover the use of his hand, even if "_l'empereur_" remained stiff and chalky. As a matter of fact, I think he was mistaken, and will never have a supple left hand again. But his arms were so brawny, his constitution so vigorous, and his legs improved so rapidly under the necessity of taking him down into the little town for his glass, of an afternoon, that one felt he might possibly be digging again sooner than he intended. "_Ah, les cochons!_" he would say; "while one finger does not move, they shall pay me!" He was very bitter against all "_majors_" save one, who it seemed had actually sympathised with him, and all _députés_, who for him constituted the powers of darkness, drawing their salaries, and sitting in their chairs. ("_Ah! les chameaux!_")