He handed across a big white silk handkerchief—a good-quality handkerchief. It did not need the inspector’s finger to draw Poirot’s attention to the mark on it in the centre. It was neatly marked and quite legible. Poirot read the name out.
‘John Fraser.’
‘That’s it,’ said the inspector. ‘John Fraser—J.F. in the note. We know the name of the man we have to look for, and I dare say when we find out a little about the dead woman, and her relations come forward, we shall soon get a line on him.’
‘I wonder,’ said Poirot. ‘No, mon cher, somehow I do not think he will be easy to find, your John Fraser. He is a strange man—careful, since he marks his handkerchiefs and wipes the pistol with which he has committed the crime—yet careless since he loses his handkerchief and does not search for a letter that might incriminate him.’
‘Flurried, that’s what he was,’ said the inspector.
‘It is possible,’ said Poirot. ‘Yes, it is possible. And he was not seen entering the building?’
‘There are all sorts of people going in and out all the time. These are big blocks. I suppose none of you—’ he addressed the four collectively—‘saw anyone coming out of the flat?’
Pat shook her head. ‘We went out earlier—about seven o’clock.’
‘I see.’ The inspector rose. Poirot accompanied him to the door.
‘As a little favour, may I examine the flat below?’
‘Why, certainly, M. Poirot. I know what they think of you at headquarters. I’ll leave you a key. I’ve got two. It will be empty. The maid cleared out to some relatives, too scared to stay there alone.’
‘I thank you,’ said M. Poirot. He went back into the flat, thoughtful.
‘You’re not satisfied, M. Poirot?’ said Jimmy.
‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘I am not satisfied.’
Donovan looked at him curiously. ‘What is it that—well, worries you?’
Poirot did not answer. He remained silent for a minute or two, frowning, as though in thought, then he made a sudden impatient movement of the shoulders.
‘I will say good night to you, mademoiselle. You must be tired. You have had much cooking to do—eh?’
Pat laughed. ‘Only the omelette. I didn’t do dinner. Donovan and Jimmy came and called for us, and we went out to a little place in Soho.’
‘And then without doubt, you went to a theatre?’
‘Yes. The Brown Eyes of Caroline.’
‘Ah!’ said Poirot. ‘It should have been blue eyes—the blue eyes of mademoiselle.’
He made a sentimental gesture, and then once more wished Pat good night, also Mildred, who was staying the night by special request, as Pat admitted frankly that she would get the horrors if left alone on this particular night.
The two young men accompanied Poirot. When the door was shut, and they were preparing to say goodbye to him on the landing, Poirot forestalled them.
‘My young friends, you heard me say I was not satisfied? Eh bien, it is true—I am not. I go now to make some little investigations of my own. You would like to accompany me—yes?’
An eager assent greeted this proposal. Poirot led the way to the flat below and inserted the key the inspector had given him in the lock. On entering, he did not, as the others had expected, enter the sitting-room. Instead he went straight to the kitchen. In a little recess which served as a scullery a big iron bin was standing. Poirot uncovered this and, doubling himself up, began to rootle in it with the energy of a ferocious terrier.
Both Jimmy and Donovan stared at him in amazement.
Suddenly with a cry of triumph he emerged. In his hand he held aloft a small stoppered bottle.
‘Voilà!’ he said. ‘I find what I seek.’ He sniffed at it delicately. ‘Alas! I am enrhumé—I have the cold in the head.’
Donovan took the bottle from him and sniffed in his turn, but could smell nothing. He took out the stopper and held the bottle to his nose before Poirot’s warning cry could stop him.
Immediately he fell like a log. Poirot, by springing forward, partly broke his fall.
‘Imbecile!’ he cried. ‘The idea. To remove the stopper in that foolhardy manner! Did he not observe how delicately I handled it? Monsieur—Faulkener—is it not? Will you be so good as to get me a little brandy? I observed a decanter in the sitting-room.’