Agatha Christie. The mystery of the Egyptian tomb (№ 256260)

The magical allure of ancient Egypt soon took possession of me. But not Poirot. Dressed exactly-in-exactly the same as if he was in London, he constantly carried in his pocket a small clothes brush and waged an endless war with the dust that was accumulated on his suit.
- And my shoes! - he moaned. - No, look at you, Hastings! My brand new shoes from the finest leather, always look so tidy and shiny! Dear God, inside the sand that mercilessly rubs his feet, and outside, too - to look at them hurt! And this heat... this heat is unbearable! She made my mustache has turned into a real loofah... Yes, a washcloth!
- Better look at the Sphinx - advised me. Even I feel that from him emanates the charm of ancient mysteries.
Poirot angrily looked at me.
- Not really it has a happy face, ' he rumbled. - Yes, and what else to expect from the poor man, when he is almost to his ears immersed in this damn sand! Damn it!