The sitting-room was the door immediately across the passage. Jimmy heard Donovan go out of the door, and presently fresh muffled curses reached him. He himself edged his way cautiously across the kitchen.
'What's the matter?'
'I don't know. Rooms get bewitched at night, I believe.
Everything seems to be in a different place. Chairs and tables where you least expected them. Oh, hell! Here's another!'
But at this moment Jimmy fortunately connected with an electric-light switch and pressed it down. In another minute two young men were looking at each other in silent horror. This room was not Pat's sitting-room. They were in the wrong flat.
To begin with, the room was about ten times more crowded than Pat's, which explained Donovan's pathetic bewilderment at repeatedly cannoning into chairs and tables. There was a large round table in the centre of the room covered with a baize cloth, and there was an aspidistra in the window. It was, in fact, the kind of room whose owner, the young men felt sure, would be difficult to explain to. With silent horror they gazed down at the tablet on which lay a little pile of letters.
'Mrs Emestine Grant,' breathed Donovan, picking them up and reading the name. 'Oh, helpI Do you think she's heard us?'
'It's a miracle she hasn't heard you,' said Jimmy. 'What with your language and the way you've been crashing into me furniture. Come- on, for the Lord's sake, let's get out of there quickly.'
They hastily switched off the light and retraced their steps ti toe to the lift. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief as they on P - . -s of its depths without further incident...
regained the a...--:--.. a ,,ood, sound sleeper,' he smd 'I do like a wormul '
'Mrs Emestine Grant has her point.
!0rovmg Y'
,hv e made the mistake in -I see it flow,' said Jimmy ----a W the floor, I mean. Out in that well we started up from the basement.'
He heaved on the rope, and the lift shot up. 'We're right this time.'
'I devoutly trust we are', said Jimmy as he stepped out into , 't shocks another inky void. My nerves won stand many more of this kind.'
But no further nerve strain was imposed. The first click of the light showed them Pat's kitchen, and in another minute they were opening the front door and admitting the two girls who were waiting outside.
'You have been a long time,' grumbled Pat. 'Mildred and I have been waiting here ages.'
'We've had an adventure,' said Donovan. 'We might have been hauled off to the police-station as dangerous malefactors.'
Pat had passed on into the sitting-room, where she switched on the light and dropped her wrap on the sofa. She listened lively interest to Donovan's account of his adventures.
'I'm glad she didn't catch you,' she commented. 'I'm sure she's an old curmudgeon. I got a note from her this morning wanted to see me some time - something she had to complain about - my piano, I suppose, people who don't like pianos over their heads shouldn't come and live in flats. I say, Donovan, you've hurt your hand. It's all over blood. Go and wash it under the tap.'
Donovan looked down at his hand in surprise. He went out of the room obediently and presently his voice called to Jimmy.
'Hullo,' said the other, 'what's up? You haven't hurt yourself badly, have you?'
'I haven't hurt myself at all.'
There was something so queer in Donovan's voice that Jimmy stared at him in surprise. Donovan held out his washed hand and Jimmy saw that there was no mark or cut of any kind on it.
'That's odd,' he said, frowning. 'There was quite a lot of blood. There did it come from?' And then suddenly he realized what his quicker-witted friend had already seen. 'By Jove,' he said. 'It must have come from that flat.' He stopped, thinking over the possibilities his word implied. 'You' re sure it was - er - blood?' he said. 'Not paint?'
Donovan shook his head. 'It was blood, all right,' he said, and shivered.
They looked at each other. The same thought was clearly in each of their minds. It was Jimmy who voiced it first.
'I say,' he said awkwardly. 'Do you think we ought to - well ' go down again - and have - a - look around? See it's all right, you know?'
'What about the girls?'
'We won't say anything to them. Pat's going to put on an apron and make us an omelette. We'll be back by the time they wonder where we are.'
'Oh, well, come on,' said Donovan. 'I suppose we've got to go through with it. I dare say there isn't anything really wrong.'
But his tone lacked conviction. They got into the lift and descended to the floor below. They found their way across the kitchen without much difficulty and once more switched on the sitting-room light.
'It must have been in here,' said Donovan, 'that - that I got the stuff on me. I never touched anything in the kitchen.'
He looked round him. Jimmy did the same, and they both frowned. Everything looked neat and commonplace and miles removed from any suggestion of violence or gore.
Suddenly Jimmy started violently and caught his compan-ion's arm.
'Look!'
Donovan followed the pointing finger, and in his turn uttered an exclamation. From beneath the heavy rep curtains there protruded a foot - a woman's foot in a gaping patcn.r leather shoe.
Jimmy went to the curtain.s and drew them sharply apart. In recess of the window a woman's huddled body lying on the floor, a sticky dark pool beside it. She was dead, there was no doubt of that. Jimmy was attempting to raise her up when Donovan stopped him.
'You'd better not do that. She oughtn't to be touched till the police come.'
'The police. Oh, of course. I say, Donovan, what a ghastly business. Who do you think she is? Mrs Ernestine Grant?'
'Looks like it. At any rate, if there's anyone else in the flt they're keeping jolly quiet.'
'What do we do next?' asked Jimmy. 'Run out and get a policeman or ring up from Pat's fit?'
'I should think ringing up would be best. Come on, we might as well go out the front door. We can't spend the whole night going up and down in that evil-smelling ·
Jimmy agreed. Just as they were passing through the door he hesitated. 'Look here; do you think one of us ought to stay -just to keep an eye on things - till the police come?'
'Yes, I think you're right. If you'll stay I'll nm up and telephone.'
He ran quickly up the stairs and rang the bell of the flat above. Pat came to open it, a very pretty Pat with a flushed face ' and a cooking apron on. Her eyes widened in surprise.
'You? But how - Donovan, what is it? Is anything the matter?'
He took both her hands in his. 'It's all right, Pat - only we've made a rather unpleasant discovery in the flat below. A woman - dead.'
'Oh!' She gave a little gasp. 'How horrible.. Has she had a fit or something?'
'No. It looks - well - it looks rather as though she had been murdered.'
'Oh, Donovan!'
'I know. It's pretty beastly.'
Her hands were still in his. She had left them there - was even clinging to him. Darling Pat - how he loved her. Did she care at all for him? Sometimes he thought she did. Sometimes he was afraid that Jimmy Faulkener- remembrances of Jimmy waiting patienfiy below made him start guiltily.
'Pat, dear, we must telephone to the police.'
'Monsieur is right,' said a voice behind him. 'And in the meantime, while we are waiting their arrival, perhaps I'll be of some slight assistance.'
They had been standing in the doorway of the flat, and ao they peered out on the landing. A figure was standing on the stairs a little way above them. It moved down and into their range of vision.
They stood staring at the little man with a very fierce moustache and an egg-shaped head. He wore a resplendent dressing-gown and embroidered slippers. He bowed gallantly to Patricia.
'Mademoiselle!' he said. 'I am, as perhaps you know, the tenant of the flat above. I like to be up high - in the air - the view over London. I take the flat in the name of Mr O'Connor. But I am not an Irishman. I have another name.
That is why I venture to put myself at your service. Permit me.' With a flourish he pulled out a card and handed it to Pat. She read it.
'M. Hercule Poirot. Oh? She caught her breath. 'The M. Poirot! The great detective? And you will really help?'
'That is my intention, mademoiselle. I nearly offered my help earlier in the evening.'
Pat looked puzzled.
'I heard you discussing how to gain admission to your flat. Me, I am very fever at picking locks. I could, without doubt, have opened your door for you, but I hesitated to suggest it. You would have had the grave suspicions of me.'
Pat laughed.
'Now, monsieur,' said Poirot to Donovan. 'Go in, I pray of you, and telephone to the police. I will descend to the flat below.'
Pat came down the stairs with him. They found Jimmy on guard, and Pat explained Poirot's presence, Jimmy, in his turn, explained to Poirot his and Donovan's adventures. The detective listened attentively.
'The lift door was unbolted, you say? You e ino the kitchen, but the lihl it would not mrn on.'
He directed his footsteps to the kitchen as he spoke. His fingers pressed the switch. , 'Tiens! Voila ce qui est curieux! hesidasthelightfiashedon.
'It functions perfectly now. I wonder -' He held up a finger to ensure silence and listened. A faint sound broke the stillness the sound of an unmistakable snore. 'Ah!' said Poirot. 'La chambre de domestique.'
He tiptoed across the kitchen into a little pantry, out of which led a door. He opened the door and switched on the light. The room was the kind of dog kennel designed by the builders of flats to accommodate a human being. The floor space was almost entirely occupied by the bed. In the bed was a rosy-cheeked girl lying on her back with her mouth wide open, snoring placidly.
Poirot switched off the light and beat a retreat.
'She will not wake,' he said. 'We will let her sleep till the police come.'
He went back to the sitting-room. Donovan had joined them.
'The police will be here almost immediately, they sy' he rid breathlessly. 'We are to touch nothing.'
Poirot nodded. 'We will not touch,' he said. 'We will look, · at is all.'
He moved into the room. Mildred had come down with Donovan, and all four young people stood in the doorway and watched him with breathless interest.
'What I can't understand, sir, is this,' said Donovaa. 'I never went near the window - how did the blood come on my hand?'
'My young friend, the answer to that stares you in the face. Of what colour is the tablecloth? Red, is it not? and doubtless you did put your hand on the table.'
'Yes, I did. Is that - ?' He stopped.
Poirot nodded. He was bending over the table. He indicated with his hand a dark patch on the red.
'It was here that the crime was committed,' he said solemnly.
'The body was moved afterwards.'
Then he stood uptight and looked slowly round t3. He did not move, he handled nothing, but neverth? four watching felt as though every object in that rather Crows place gave up ks secret to his observant eye.
Hercule Poirot nodded his head as though satisfied. A sigh escaped him. 'I see,' he said.
'You see what?' asked Donovan curiously.
'I see,' said Poirot, 'what you doubtless felt - that the room is overfull of furniture.'
Donovan smiled ruefully. 'I did go barging about a bit,' he confessed. 'Of course, everything was in a different place Pat's room, and I couldn't make it out.'
'Not everything,' said Poirot.
Donovan looked at him inquiringly.
'I mean,' said Poirot apologetically, 'that certain things are always fnted. In a block of flats the door, the window, fireplace - they are in the same place in the rooms which a below each other.'
'Isn't that rather splitting hairs?' asked Mildred. She was looking at Poirot with faint disapproval.
'One should always speak with absolute accuracy. That is a little - how do you say? - fad of mine.'
There was the noise of footsteps on the stairs, and three nm came in. They were a police inspector, a constable, and divisional surgeon. The inspector recognized Poirot and greeted him in an almost reverential manner. Then he turned to the others.
'I shall want statements from everyone,' he began, 'but in the first place -'
Poirot interrupted. 'A little suggestion. We will go back to the flat upstairs and mademoiselle here shall do what she was planning to do - make us an omelette. Me, I have a passion for the omelettes. Then, M. l'Inspecteur, when you have finished here, you will mount to us and ask questions at your leisure.'
It was arranged accordingly, and Poirot went up with them.
'M. Poirot,' said Pat, 'I think you're a perfect dear. And you shall have a lovely omelette. I really make omelettes frightfully well.'
'That is good. Once, mademoiselle, I loved a beautiful young girl who resembled you greatly - but alas - she could Enghsh gl the best' not cook. So perhaps everything was for ·
There was a faint sadness in his voice, and Jimmy Faulkener looked at him curiously.
Once in the flat, however, he exerted himself o please and amuse. The grim tragedy below was almost forgotten.
The omelette had been consumed and duly praised by the time that Inspector Rice's footsteps were heard, lie cne in accompanied by the doctor, having left the constable below.
'Well, Monsieur Poirot' he said. 'It all seems dear and above-board - not much in your line, though we may find it hard to catch the man. I'd just like to hear how the discovery came to be made.'
Donovan and Jimmy between them recounted the happenings of the evening. The inspector turned reproachfully to Pat.
'You shouldn't leave your lift door unlocked, miss. You really shouldn't.'
'I shan't again,' said Pat, with a shiver. 'Somebody might come in and murder me like that poor woman below.'
'Ah, but they didn't come in that way, though,' said time inspector.
'You will recount to us what you have discovered, yes? sin Poirot.
'I don't know as I ought to - but seeing it's you, M. Poirot -'
'Prc/sSne,' said Poirot. 'And these young people- they '
'The newspapers will get hold of it, anyway, soon enough,' said the inspeaor. 'There's no real secret about the mater.
Well, the dead woman's is Grant, it's right. I had the porter up to identify her. Woman of about thirty-five. She was sitting at the table, and she was shot with an automatic pistol of small calibre, probably by someone sitting opposite her at table. She fell forward, and that's how the bloodstain came on the table.'
'But wouldn't someone have heard the shott' asked Mildred.
'The pistol was fined with a silencer. No, you wouldn't hear anything. By the way, did you hear the screech the maid let out when we told her her mistress was dead? No. Well, that just shows how unlikely it was that anyone would hear the other.'
'Has the maid no story to tell?' asked Poirot.
'It was her evening out. She's got her own key. She came in about ten o'clock. Everything was quiet. She thought her mistress had gone to bed.'
'She did not look in the sitting-room, then?'
'Yes, she took the letters in there which had come by the evening post, but she saw nothing unusual - any more than Mr Faulkener and Mr Bailey did. You see, the murderer had concealed the body rather neatly behind the curtains.'
'But it was a curious thing to do, don't you think?'
Poirot's voice was very gentle, yet it held something that made the inspector look up quickly.
'Didn't want the crime discovered till he'd had time to make .his getaway.'
'Perhaps, perhaps - but continue with what you were saying.'
'The maid went out at five o'clock. The doctor here put:3 the time of death as - roughly - about four to five hours ago. That's right, isn't it?'
The doctor, who was a man of few words, contented himself with jerking his head afirmatively.
'It's a quarter to twelve now. The actual time can,
I think, be narrowed down to a fairly definite hour.'
He took out a crumpled sheet of paper.
'We found this in the pocket of the dead woman's dress. You needn't be afraid of handling it. There are no fingerprints on it.'
Poirot smoothed out the sheet. Across it some words were printed in small, prim capitals.
I WILL COME TO SEE YOU THIS EVENING AT HALF PAST SEVEN.
'A compromising document to leave behind,' commuted Poirot, as he handed it back.
'Well, he didn't know she'd got it in her pocket,' said the inspector. 'He probably thought she'd destroyed it. We've evidence that he was a careful man, though. The pistol she was shot with we found under the body - and there again no fingerprints. They'd been wiped off very carefully with a silk handkerchief.'
'How do you know,' said Poirot, 'that it was a silk handkerchief?.'
'Because we found it,' said the inspector triumphantly. 'At the last, as he was drawing the axrtains, he must have let it fall unnoticed.'
He handed across a big white silk handkerchief - a good-quality handkerchief. It did not need the inspector's finger to draw Poirot's attention to the mark on it in the centre. It was neatly marked and quite legible. Poirot read the name out.
'John Fraser.'
'That's it,' said the inspector. 'John Fraser - J.F. in the note.
We know the name of the man we have to look for, and I dare say when we find out a little about the dead woman, sntl her relations come forward, we shall soon get a line on him.'
'I wonder,' said Poirot. 'No, mon chef, somehow I do not think he will be easy to find, your John Fraser. He is a strange man - careful, since he marks his handkerchiefs and wipes the pistol with which he has committed the crime - yet careless since he loses his handkerchief and does not search for a letter that might incriminate him.'
'Flurried, that's what he was,' said the inspector.
'It is possible,' said Poirot. 'Yes, it is possible. And he was not seen entering the building?'
'There are all sorts of people going in and out all the time.
These are big blocks. I suppose none of you -' he addressed the four collectively -'saw anyone coming out of the flat?'
Pat shook her head. 'We went out earlier - about seven o'clock.'
'I see.' The inspector rose. Poirot accompanied him to the door.
Hercule Poirot's Casebook (hercule poirot) Page 20
