I WAS ENGROSSED IN my crossword puzzle when Poirot returned from the hotel to the lodging house several hours later. “Catchpool,” he said severely. “Why do you sit in almost total darkness? I do not believe you can see to write.”

“The fire provides enough light. Besides, I’m not writing at the moment—I’m thinking. Not that it’s getting me very far. I don’t know how these chaps do it, the ones who invent crosswords for the newspapers. I’ve been working on this one for months, and I still can’t get it to fit together. I say, you might be able to help. Can you think of a word that means death and has six letters?”

“Catchpool.” Now Poirot’s tone was even sterner.

“Hm?” I said.

“Do you take me to be the fool, or is it that you are a fool yourself? A word for death that has six letters is murder.”

“Yes, that one’s rather obvious. That was my first thought.”

“I am relieved to hear it, mon ami.”

“That would be perfect, if murder began with a D. Since it doesn’t, and since I’m stuck with this D from another word . . .” I shook my head in consternation.

“Forget crossword puzzles. We have much to discuss.”

“I don’t believe, and won’t believe, that Thomas Brignell murdered Jennie Hobbs,” I said firmly.

“You feel sympathy for him,” said Poirot.

“I do, and I also would bet my last penny that he is no murderer. Who’s to say that he doesn’t have a girlfriend with a pale brown coat? Brown is a popular color for coats!”

“He is the assistant clerk,” said Poirot. “Why would he stand in the gardens beside a wheelbarrow?”

“Perhaps the wheelbarrow was simply there!”

“And Mr. Brignell stands with his lady friend right beside it?”

“Well, why not?” I said, exasperated. “Isn’t that more plausible than the idea that Brignell took Jennie Hobbs’s dead body out to the gardens with a plan to wheel it off somewhere in a wheelbarrow, then pretended to embrace her when he saw me looking out of the window? One might just as well say . . .” I stopped and inhaled sharply. “Oh, goodness,” I said. “You are going to say it, aren’t you?”

“What, mon ami? What do you think Poirot will say?”

“Rafal Bobak is a waiter, so why was he pushing a laundry cart?”

“Exactement. And why does he push the laundry through the elegant lobby in the direction of the front doors? Is the laundry not washed inside the hotel? Signor Lazzari, he would surely have noticed this if he had not been so concerned about the missing fourth murder victim. Of course, he would not be suspicious of Mr. Bobak—all of his staff are beyond reproach in his eyes.”