Poirot was sitting with his back very straight. “Three murders, in the same hotel and each in a different room?” he said.

“Yes, and all committed earlier in the evening within a short space of time.”

“This evening? And yet you are here. Why are you not at the hotel? The killer, he is apprehended already?”

“No such luck, I’m afraid. No, I . . .” I stopped and cleared my throat. Reporting the facts of the case was straightforward enough, but I had no wish to explain to Poirot how my mood had been affected by what I had seen, or to tell him that I had been at the Bloxham for no more than five minutes before I succumbed to the powerful urge to leave.

The way all three had been laid out on their backs so formally: arms by their sides, palms of their hands touching the floor, legs together . . .

Laying out the dead. The phrase forced its way into my mind, accompanied by a vision of a dark room from many years ago—a room I had been compelled to enter as a young child, and had been refusing to enter in my imagination ever since. I fully intended to carry on refusing for the rest of my life.

Lifeless hands, palms facing downward.

“Hold his hand, Edward.”

“Don’t worry, there are plenty of police crawling about the place,” I said quickly and loudly, to banish the unwelcome vision. “Tomorrow morning is soon enough for me to go back.” Seeing that he was waiting for a fuller answer, I added, “I had to clear my head. Frankly, I’ve never seen anything as peculiar as these three murders in all my life.”

“In what way peculiar?”

“Each of the victims had something in his or her mouth—the same thing.”

“Non.” Poirot wagged his finger at me. “This is not possible, mon ami. The same thing cannot be inside three different mouths at the same time.”

“Three separate things, all identical,” I clarified. “Three cufflinks, solid gold from the look of them. Monogrammed. Same initials on all three: PIJ. Poirot? Are you all right? You look—”

“Mon Dieu!” He had risen to his feet and begun to pace around the room. “You do not see what this means, mon ami. No, you do not see it at all, because you have not heard the story of my encounter with Mademoiselle Jennie. Quickly I must tell you what happened so that you understand.”