Fee Spring looked over Poirot’s shoulder toward the door. “If it’s memories you’re after, there’ll be a man bringing one in for you soon. He was in round about an hour ago. Shown the way here by a policeman, he was—escorted, like royalty. Must be someone important, I thought. You weren’t here, so I told him to come back now.” She was looking up at the clock that was wedged in between two teapots on a bowed shelf above her head. “I knew you’d be in again at least once today, looking for Jennie when I’ve told you you won’t find her.”

“Did this gentleman tell you his name?”

“No. He was nice and polite, though. Respectful. Not like the one who was all mucky looking and spoke with your voice. He had no right doing that, however clever it was.”

“Pardon, mademoiselle. The man to whom you refer—Mr. Samuel Kidd—he did not speak with my voice. He attempted to replicate it, but no person can replicate the voice of another.”

Fee laughed. “He did yours pretty darn good! I’d not know the difference, with my eyes closed.”

“Then you do not pay attention when people talk,” said Poirot irritably. “Each of us has a speaking voice that is unique, a cadence that belongs to that individual alone.” To illustrate his point, Poirot held up his cup. “As unique as the tremendous coffee of Pleasant’s Coffee House.”

“You’re drinking far too much of it,” said Fee. “It’s not good for you.”

“From where did you get this idea?”

“You can’t see your eyes, Mr. Poirot. I can. You should try drinking a cup of tea once in a while. Tea doesn’t taste like mud, and there’s no such thing as too much of it. Tea’s only ever good for a person.” Having delivered her speech, Fee smoothed down the front of her apron. “And I do listen when people talk—to the words, not the accent. It’s what people say that counts, not whether they say it Belgian-sounding or English-sounding.”

At that moment, the coffee-house door opened and a man walked in. He had the drooping eyes of a basset hound.

Fee nudged Poirot. “Here he is, without the police fellow,” she whispered.

The man was Rafal Bobak, the waiter from the Bloxham Hotel who had served afternoon tea to Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus at a quarter past seven on the night of the murders. Bobak apologized for the intrusion, and explained that Luca Lazzari had told his whole staff that if any of them wanted to speak to the famous detective Hercule Poirot, Pleasant’s Coffee House in St. Gregory’s Alley was the place to find him.

Once they had settled themselves at a table, Poirot asked, “What is it that you wish to tell me? You have remembered something?”