At the Bloxham Hotel

THE FOLLOWING MORNING AT the Bloxham, I could not help but feel unsettled, knowing that Poirot might arrive at any moment to tell us simple police folk how foolishly we were approaching the investigation of our three murders. I was the only one who knew he was coming, which set me rather on edge. His presence would be my responsibility, and I was afraid that he might demoralize the troops. If truth be told, I feared that he might demoralize me. In the optimistic light of an unusually bright February day, and after a surprisingly satisfactory night’s sleep, I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t forbidden him from coming anywhere near the Bloxham.

I didn’t suppose it mattered, however; he would not have listened to me if I had.

I was in the hotel’s opulent lobby, talking to a Mr. Luca Lazzari, the hotel’s manager, when Poirot arrived. Lazzari was a friendly, helpful and startlingly enthusiastic man with black curly hair, a musical way of speaking, and a mustache that was in no way the equal of Poirot’s. Lazzari seemed determined that I and my fellow policemen should enjoy our time at the Bloxham every bit as much as the paying guests did—those that did not end up getting murdered, that is.

I introduced him to Poirot, who nodded curtly. He seemed out of sorts and I soon learned why. “I did not find Jennie,” he said. “Half the morning I waited at the coffee house! But she did not come.”

“Hardly ‘half the morning,’ Poirot,” I said, for he was prone to exaggeration.

“Mademoiselle Fee also was not there. The other waitresses, they were able to tell me nothing.”

“Bad luck,” I said, unsurprised by the news. I hadn’t for a moment imagined that Jennie might revisit the coffee house, and I felt guilty. I should perhaps have tried harder to make Poirot see sense: she had run away from him and from Pleasant’s, having declared that confiding in him had been a mistake. Why on earth would she return the following day and allow him to take charge of protecting her?

“So!” Poirot looked at me expectantly. “What do you have to tell me?”

“I too am here to provide the information you need,” said Lazzari, beaming. “Luca Lazzari, at your disposal. Have you visited the Bloxham Hotel before, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Non.”

“Is it not superb? Like a palace of the belle époque, no? Majestic! I hope you notice and admire the artistic masterpieces that are all around us!”

“Oui. It is superior to the lodging house of Mrs. Blanche Unsworth, though that house has the better view from the window,” Poirot said briskly. His glum spirits had certainly dug themselves in.