“SO,” SAID POIROT ONCE our visitor had left us and we were alone. “Nancy Ducane agrees with Margaret Ernst that the Ives committed suicide, but the official record is of two accidental deaths. Ambrose Flowerday told this lie in order to protect the reputations of Patrick and Frances Ive from further damage.”

“How extraordinary,” I said. “Margaret Ernst said nothing about that.”

“I wonder, then, if we have found the reason why she made you promise not to speak to the doctor. What if Ambrose Flowerday is proud of the lie he told—proud enough, maybe, to confess if asked. If Margaret Ernst wished to protect him . . .”

“Yes,” I agreed. “That could have been the reason she wanted to steer me away from him.”

“The desire to protect—this I understand only too well!” Poirot’s voice was fierce with emotion.

“You mustn’t blame yourself about Jennie, Poirot. You could not have protected her.”

“There you have the wisdom, Catchpool. Protecting Jennie would have been impossible for anyone, even Hercule Poirot. It was too late to save her even before I met her—this I now understand. Much, much too late.” He sighed. “It is interesting, is it not, that this time there is blood, when before there was poison and no blood?”

“What I keep wondering is: where is Jennie’s body? The Bloxham has been searched from top to bottom, and nothing!”

“Do not ask yourself where, Catchpool. Where does not matter. Ask yourself why. Whether the body was removed from the hotel by laundry cart, suitcase or wheelbarrow, why was it removed? Why was it not left in the hotel room, as the other three were?”

“Well? What’s the answer? You know what it is, so tell me.”

“Indeed,” said Poirot. “All of this can be explained, but I am afraid it is not a happy explanation.”

“Happy or not, I’d like to hear it.”

“In the fullness of time you will hear everything. For now I will tell you this: no employee of the Bloxham Hotel saw either Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury or Richard Negus more than once, apart from one man: Thomas Brignell. He saw Richard Negus twice: once when Negus arrived at the hotel on the Wednesday and Brignell attended to him, and again on Thursday evening when he bumped into Mr. Negus in the corridor and Mr. Negus asked him for a sherry.” Poirot gave a self-satisfied little chuckle. “Reflect upon that, Catchpool. Do you start to see what is suggested by that fact?”

“No.”

“Ah!”

“For pity’s sake, Poirot!” Never had one syllable—Ah!—been enunciated in such an infuriating fashion.

“I have told you, my friend: do not expect always to be given the answer.”