He heaved on the rope, and the lift shot up. 'We're right this time.' 'I devoutly trust we are,' said Jimmy as he stepped out into anotherinky void. 'My nerves won't stand many more shocks of this kind.' But no further nerve strain was imposed. The first click of the light showed them Pat's kitchen, and in another minute they were opening the front door and admitting the two girls who were waiting outside.
'You have been a long time,' grumbled Pat. 'Mildred and I have been waiting here ages.' 'We've had an adventure,' said Donovan. 'We might have been hauled off to the police-station as dangerous malefactors.' Pat had passed on into the sitting-room, where she switched on the light and dropped her wrap on the sofa. She listened with lively interest to Donovan's account of his adventures.
'I'm glad she didn't catch you,' she commented. 'I'm sure she's an old curmudgeon. I got a note from her this morning - wanted to see me some time - something she had to complain about - my piano, I suppose. People who don't like pianos over their heads shouldn't come and live in flats. I say, Donovan, you've hurt your hand. It's all over blood. Go and wash it under the tap.' Donovan looked down at his hand in surprise. He went out of the room obediently and presently his voice called to Jimmy.
'Hullo,' said the other, 'what's up? You haven't hurt yourself badly, have you?' 'I haven't hurt myself at all.' There was something so queer in Donovan's voice that Jimmy stared at him in surprise. Donovan held out his washed hand and Jimmy saw that there was no mark or cut of any kind on it.
'That's odd,' he said, frowning. 'There was quite a lot of blood.
Where did it come/rom?' And then suddenly he realized what his quicker-witted friend had already seen. 'By Jove,' he said. 'It must have come from that flat' He stopped, thinking over the possibilities his words implied. 'You're sure it was - er - blood?' he said. 'Not paint?' Donovan shook his head. 'It was blood, all right,' he said, and shivered.
They looked at each other. The same thought was clearly in each of their minds. It was Jimmy who voiced it first.
'I say,' he said awkwardly. 'Do you think we ought to - well go down again - and have - a - a look around? See it's all right, you know?' 'What about the girls?' 'We won't say anything to them. Pat's going to put on an apron and make us an omelette. We'll be back by the time they wonder where we are.' 'Oh, well, come on,' said Donovan. 'I suppose we've got to go through with it. I dare say there isn't anything really wrong.' But his tone lacked conviction. They got into the lift and descended to the floor below. They found their way across the kitchen without much difficulty and once more switched on the sitting-room light.
'It must have been in here,' said Donovan, 'that - that I got the stuff on me. I never touched anything in the kitchen.' He looked round him. Jimmy did the same, and they both frowned. Everything looked neat and commonplace and miles removed from any suggestion of violence or gore.
Suddenly Jimmy started violently and caught his companion's
'Look!' Donovan followed the pointing finger, and in his turn uttered an exclamation. From beneath the heavy rep curtains there protruded a foot - a woman's foot in a gaping patent-leather shoe.
Jimmy went to the curtains and drew them sharply apart. In the recess of the window a woman's huddled body lay on the floor, a sticky dark pool beside it. She was dead, there was no doubt of
that. Jimmy was attempting to raise her up when Donovan stopped him.
'You'd better not do that. She oughtn't to be touched till the police come.' 'The police. Oh, of course. I say, Donovan, what a ghastly business. Who do you think she is? Mrs Ernestine Grant?' 'Looks like it. At any rate, if there's anyone else in the flat they're keeping jolly quiet.' 'What do we do next?' asked Jimmy. 'Run out and get a policeman or ring up from Pat's flat?' 'I should think ringing up would be best. Come on, we might as well go out the front door. We can't spend the whole night going up and down in that evil-smelling lift.' Jimmy agreed. Just as they were passing through the door he hesitated. 'Look here; do you think one of us ought to stay - just to keep an eye on things - till the police come?' 'Yes, I think you're right. If you'll stay I'll run up and telephone.' He ran quickly up the stairs and rang the bell of the flat above.
Pat came to open it, a very pretty Pat with a flushed face and a cooking apron on. Her eyes widened in surprise.
'You? But how - Donovan, what is it? Is anything the matter?' He took both her hands in his. 'It's all right, Pat - only we've made rather an unpleasant discovery in the flat below. A woman dead.' 'Oh!' She gave a little gasp. 'How horrible. Has she had a fit or something?' 'No. It looks - well - it looks rather as though she had been murdered.' 'Oh, Donovan!' 'I know. It's pretty beastly.' Her hands were still in his. She had left them there - was even clinging to him. Darling Pat - how he loved her. Did she care at all for him? Sometimes he thought shd did. Sometimes he was afraid that Jimmy Faulkener - remembrances of Jimmy waiting patiently below made him start guiltily.
'Pat, dear, we must telephone to the police.' 'Monsieur is right,' said a voice behind him. 'And in the mean156
time, while we are waiting their arrival, perhaps I can be of some slight assistance.' They had been standing in the doorway of the flat, and now they peered out on to the landing. A figure was standing on the stairs a little way above them. It moved down and into their range of vision.
They stood staring at a little man with a very fierce moustache and an egg-shaped head. He wore a resplendent dressing-gown and embroidered slippers. He bowed gallantly to Patricia.
'Mademoisellel' he said. 'I am, as perhaps you know, the tenant of the flat above. I like to be up high - the air - the view over London. I take the flat in the name of Mr O'Connor. But I am not an Irishman. I have another name. That is why I venture to put myself at your service. Permit me.' With a flourish he pulled out a card and handed it to Pat. She read it.
'M. Hercule Poirot. Oh!' She caught her breath. 'The M. Poirofl The great detective? And you will really help?' 'That is my intention, mademoiselle. I nearly offered my help earlier in the evening.' Pat looked puzzled.
'I heard you discussing how to gain admission to your flat Me, I am very clever at picking locks. I could, without doubt, have opened your door for you, but I hesitated to suggest it. You would have had the grave suspicions of me.' Pat laughed.
'Now, monsieur,' said Poirot to Donovan. 'Go in, I pray of you, and telephone to the police. I will descend to the flat below.' Pat came down the stairs with him. They found Jimmy on guard, and Pat explained Poirot's presence. Jimmy, in his turn, explained to Poirot his and Donovan's adventures. The detective listened attentively.
'The lift door was unbolted, you say? You emerged into the kitchen, but the light it would not turn on.' He directed his footsteps to the kitchen as he spoke. His fingem pressed the switch.
'T/ensl Voild ce qui est curieuxl' he said as the light flashed on.
'It functions perfectly now. I wonder - ' He held up a finger to ensure silence and listened. A faint sound broke the stillness-the sound of an unmistakable snore. 'Ah!' said Poirot. 'La chambre de domestique.'
He tiptoed across the kitchen into a little pantry, out of which led a door. He opened the door and switched on the light. The room was the kind of dog kennel designed by the builders of flats to accommodate a human being. The floor space was almost entirely occupied by the bed. In the bed was a rosy-cheeked girl lying on her back with her mouth wide-open, snoring placidly.
Poirot switched off the light and beat a retreat.
'She will not wake,' he said. 'We will let her sleep till the police come.'
He went back to the sitting-room. Donovan had joined them.
'The police will be here almost immediately, they say,' he said breathlessly. 'We are to touch nothing.'
Poirot nodded. 'We will not touch,' he said. 'We will look, that is all.'