Goby had left. He raised and lowered his eyebrows. He wondered, he wondered very much.

Then he rang Mrs. Oliver: "I told you before," he said, "to be careful. I repeat that- Be very careful." "Careful of what?" said Mrs. Oliver.

"Of yourself. I think there might be danger. Danger to anyone who goes poking about where they are not wanted. There is murder in the air - I do not want it to be yours." "Have you had the information you said you might have?" "Yes," said Poirot, "I have had a little information. Mostly rumour and gossip, but it seems something happened at Borodene Mansions." "What sort of thing?" "Blood in the courtyard," said Poirot.

"Really!" said Mrs. Oliver. "That's just like the title of an old-fashioned detective story. The Stain on the Staircase. I mean nowadays you say something more like She asked for Death." "Perhaps there may not have been blood in the courtyard. Perhaps it is only what an imaginative, Irish porter imagined." "Probably an upset milk bottle," said Mrs. Oliver. "He couldn't see it at night.

What happened?" Poirot did not answer directly.

"The girl thought she 'might have committed a murder'. Was that the murder she meant?" "You mean she did shoot someone?" "One might presume that she did shoot at someone, but for all intents and purposes missed them. A few drops of blood.

That was all. No body." "Oh dear," said Mrs. Oliver, "it's all very confused. Surely if anyone could still run out of a courtyard, you wouldn't think you'd killed him, would you?" "C'est difficile," said Poirot, and rang off.

"I'm worried," said Claudia ReeceHolland.

She refilled her cup from the coffee percolator. Frances Cary gave an enormous yawn. Both girls were breakfasting in the small kitchen of the flat. Claudia was dressed and ready to start for her day's work. Frances was still in dressing-gown and pyjamas. Her black hair fell over one eye.

"I'm worried about Norma," continued Claudia.

Frances yawned.

"I shouldn't worry if I were you. She'll ring up or turn up sooner or later, I suppose." "Will she? You know, Fran, I can't help wondering - " "I don't see why," said Frances, pouring herself out more coffee. She sipped it doubtfully. "I mean - Norma's not really our business, is she? I mean, we're not looking after her or spoon-feeding her or anything. She just shares the flat. Why all this motherly solicitude? I certainly wouldn't worry." "I daresay you wouldn't. You never worry over anything. But it's not the same for you as it is for me." "Why isn't it the same? You mean because you're the tenant of the flat or something?" "Well, I'm in rather a special position, as you might say." Frances gave another enormous yawn.

"I was up too late last night," she said.

"At Basil's party. I feel dreadful. Oh well, I suppose black coffee will be helpful. Have some more before I've drunk it all? Basil would make us try some new pills - Emerald Dreams. I don't think it's really worth trying all these silly things." "You'll be late at your gallery," said Claudia.

"Oh well, I don't suppose it matters much. Nobody notices or cares.

"I saw David last night," she added.

"He was all dressed up and really looked rather wonderful." "Now don't say you're falling for him, too, Fran. He really is too awful." "Oh, I know you think so. You're such a conventional type, Claudia." "Not at all. But I cannot say I care for all your arty set. Trying out all these drugs and passing out or getting fighting mad." Frances looked amused.

"I'm not a drug fiend, dear - I just like to see what these things are like. And some of the gang are all right. David can paint, you know, if he wants to." "David doesn't very often want to, though, does he?" "You've always got your knife into him, Claudia… You hate him coming here to see Norma. And talking of knives…" "Well? Talking of knives?" "I've been worrying," said Frances slowly, "whether to tell you something or not." Claudia glanced at her wristwatch.

"I haven't got time now," she said. "You can tell me this evening if you want to tell me something. Anyway, I'm not in the mood. Oh dear," she sighed, "I wish I knew what to do." "About Norma?" "Yes. I'm wondering if her parents ought to know that we don't know where she is…" "That would be very unsporting. Poor Norma, why shouldn't she slope off on her own if she wants to?" "Well, Norma isn't exactly - " Claudia stopped.

"No, she isn't, is she? Non composmentis. That's what you meant. Have you rung up that terrible place where she works.

'Homebirds', or whatever it's called? Oh yes, of course you did. I remember." "So where is she?" demanded Claudia.

"Did David say anything last night?" "David didn't seem to know. Really, Claudia, I can't see that it matters." "It matters for me," said Claudia, because my boss happens to be her father.

Sooner or later, if anything peculiar has happened to her, they'll ask me why I didn't mention the fact that she hadn't come home." "Yes, I suppose they might pitch on you.

But there's no real reason, is there, why Norma should have to report to us every time she's going to be away from here for a day or two. Or even a few nights. I mean, she's not a paying guest or anything. You're not in charge of the girl." "No, but Mr. Restarick did mention he felt glad to know that she had got a room here with us." "So that entitles you to go and tittletattle about her every time she's absent without leave? She's probably got a crush on some new man." "She's got a crush on David," said Claudia. "Are you sure she isn't holed up at his place?" "Oh, I shouldn't think so. He doesn't really care for her, you know." "You'd like to think he doesn't," said Claudia. "You are rather sweet on David yourself." "Certainly not," said Frances sharply.

"Nothing of the kind." "David's really keen on her," said Claudia. "If not, why did he come round looking for her here the other day?" "You soon marched him out again," said Frances. "I think," she added, getting up and looking at her face in a rather unflattering small kitchen mirror, "I think it might have been me he really came to see." "You're too idiotic! He came here looking for Norma." "That girl's mental," said Frances.

"Sometimes I really think she is!" "Well, I know she is. Look here, Claudia, I'm going to tell you that something now. You ought to know. I broke the string of my bra the other day and I was in a hurry.

I know you don't like anyone fiddling with your things - " "I certainly don't," said Claudia.

"- but Norma never minds, or doesn't notice. Anyway, I went into her room and I rooted in her drawer and I - well, I found something. A knife." "A knife!" said Claudia surprised.

"What sort of a knife?" "You know we had that sort of shindy thing in the courtyard? A group of beats, teenagers who'd come in here and were having a fight with flick-knives and all that.

And Norma came in just after." "Yes, Yes, I remember." "One of the boys got stabbed, so a reporter told me, and he ran away. Well, the knife in Normals drawer was a flickknife.

It had got a stain on it - looked like dried blood." "Frances! You're being absurdly dramatic." "Perhaps. But I'm sure that's what it was. And what on earth was that doing hidden away in Norma's drawer, I should like to know?" "I suppose - she might have picked it up." "What - a souvenir? And hidden it away and never told us?" "What did you do with it?" "I put it back," said Frances slowly.

"I - I didn't know what else to do.

I couldn't decide whether to tell you or not. Then yesterday I looked again and it was gone, Claudia. Not a trace of it." "You think she sent David here to get it?" "Well, she might have done… I tell you, Claudia, in future I'm going to keep my door locked at night."