‘I was favourably impressed by her,’ said Sir Montagu graciously. ‘She made several most intelligent remarks about Greek art.’

I smiled to myself picturing Jane saying ‘Yes’ and ‘No’, ‘Really, how wonderful’, in her magical husky voice. Sir Montagu was the type of man to whom intelligence consisted of the faculty of listening to his own remarks with suitable attention.

‘Edgware was a queer fish, by all accounts,’ said Widburn. ‘I daresay he’s got a good few enemies.’ 

‘Is it true, M. Poirot,’ asked Mrs Widburn, ‘that somebody ran a penknife into the back of his brain?’

‘Perfectly true, Madame. It was very neatly and efficiently done – scientific, in fact.’

‘I note your artistic pleasure, M. Poirot,’ said Sir Montagu.

‘And now,’ said Poirot, ‘let me come to the object of my visit. Lady Edgware was called to the telephone when she was here at dinner. It is about that telephone call that I seek information. Perhaps you will allow me to question your domestics on the subject?’

‘Certainly. Certainly. Just press that bell, will you, Ross.’

The butler answered the bell. He was a tall middle-aged man of ecclesiastical appearance.

Sir Montagu explained what was wanted. The butler turned to Poirot with polite attention.

‘Who answered the telephone when it rang?’ began Poirot.

‘I answered it myself, sir. The telephone is in a recess leading out of the hall.’

‘Did the person calling ask to speak to Lady Edgware or to Miss Jane Wilkinson?’

‘To Lady Edgware, sir.’

‘What did they say exactly?’

The butler reflected for a moment.

‘As far as I remember, sir, I said “Hello”. A voice then asked if I was Chiswick 43434. I replied that that was so. It then asked me to hold the line. Another voice then asked if that was Chiswick 43434 and on my replying “Yes” it said, “Is Lady Edgware dining there?” I said her ladyshipwas dining here. The voice said, “I would like to speak to her, please.” I went and informed her ladyship who was at the dinner table. Her ladyship rose, and I showed her where the ’phone was.’

‘And then?’

‘Her ladyship picked up the receiver and said: “Hello – who’s speaking?” Then she said: “Yes – that’s all right. Lady Edgware speaking.” I was just about to leave her ladyship when she called to me and said they had been cut off. She said someone had laughed and evidently hung up the receiver. She asked me if the person ringing up had given any name. They had not done so. That was all that occurred, sir.’

Poirot frowned to himself.

‘Do you really think the telephone call has something to do with the murder, M. Poirot?’ asked Mrs Widburn.

‘Impossible to say, Madame. It is just a curious circumstance.’

‘People do ring up for a joke sometimes. It’s been done to me.’

‘C’est toujours possible, Madame.’

He spoke to the butler again. 

‘Was it a man’s voice or a woman’s who rang up?’

‘A lady’s, I think, sir.’

‘What kind of a voice, high or low?’

‘Low, sir. Careful and rather distinct.’ He paused. ‘It may be my fancy, sir, but it sounded like a foreign voice. The R’s were very noticeable.’

‘As far as that goes it might have been a Scotch voice, Donald,’ said Mrs Widburn, smiling at Ross.

Ross laughed.

‘Not guilty,’ he said. ‘I was at the dinner table.’

Poirot spoke once again to the butler.

‘Do you think,’ he asked, ‘that you could recognize that voice if you were to hear it any time?’

The butler hesitated.

‘I couldn’t quite say, sir. I might do so. I think it is possible that I should do so.’

‘I thank you, my friend.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

The butler inclined his head and withdrew, pontificial to the last.

Sir Montagu Corner continued to be very friendly and to play his role of old-world charm. He persuaded us to remain and play bridge. I excused myself – the stakes were bigger than I cared about. Young Ross seemed relieved also at the prospect of someone taking his hand. He and I sat looking on while the other four played. The evening ended in a heavy financial gain to Poirot and Sir Montagu.

Then we thanked our host and took our departure. Ross came with us.

‘A strange little man,’ said Poirot as we stepped out into the night.

The night was fine and we had decided to walk until we picked up a taxi instead of having one telephoned for.

‘Yes, a strange little man,’ said Poirot again.

‘A very rich little man,’ said Ross with feeling.

‘I suppose so.’

‘He seems to have taken a fancy to me,’ said Ross. ‘Hope it will last. A man like that behind you means a lot.’

‘You are an actor, Mr Ross?’

Ross said that he was. He seemed sad that his name had not brought instant recognition. Apparently he had recently won marvellous notices in some gloomy play translated from the Russian.

When Poirot and I between us had soothed him down again, Poirot asked casually:

‘You knew Carlotta Adams, did you not?’

‘No. I saw her death announced in the paper tonight. Overdose of some drug or other. Idiotic the way all these girls dope.’

‘It is sad, yes. She was clever, too.’ 

‘I suppose so.’

He displayed a characteristic lack of interest in anyone else’s performance but his own.

‘Did you see her show at all?’ I asked.

‘No. That sort of thing’s not much in my line. Kind of craze for it at present, but I don’t think it will last.’

‘Ah!’ said Poirot. ‘Here is a taxi.’

He waved a stick.

‘Think I’ll walk,’ said Ross. ‘I get a tube straight home from Hammersmith.’

Suddenly he gave a nervous laugh.

‘Odd thing,’ he said. ‘That dinner last night.’

‘Yes?’

‘We were thirteen. Some fellow failed at the last minute. We never noticed till just the end of dinner.’

‘And who got up first?’ I asked.

He gave a queer little nervous cackle of laughter.

‘I did,’ he said.

When we got home we found Japp waiting for us.

‘Thought I’d just call round and have a chat with you before turning in, M. Poirot,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Eh bien, my good friend, how goes it?’

‘Well, it doesn’t go any too well. And that’s a fact.’

He looked distressed.

‘Got any help for me, M. Poirot?’

‘I have one or two little ideas that I should like to present to you,’ said Poirot.

‘You and your ideas! In some ways, you know, you’re a caution. Not that I don’t want to hear them. I do. There’s some good stuff in that funny-shaped head of yours.’

Poirot acknowledged the compliment somewhat coldly.

‘Have you any ideas about the double lady problem – that’s what I want to know? Eh, M. Poirot? What about it? Who was she?’

‘That is exactly what I wish to talk to you about.’

He asked Japp if he had ever heard of Carlotta Adams.

‘I’ve heard the name. For the moment I can’t just place it.’

Poirot explained.

‘Her! Does imitations does she? Now what made you fix on her? What have you got to go on?’

Poirot related the steps we had taken and the conclusion we had drawn.

‘By the Lord, it looks as though you were right. Clothes, hat, gloves, etc., and the fair wig. Yes, it must be. I will say – you’re the goods, M. Poirot. Smart work, that! Not that I think there’s anything to show she was put out of the way. That seems a bit far fetched. I don’t quite see eye to eye with you there. Your theory is a bit fantastical for me. I’ve more experience than you have. I don’t believe in this villain-behind-the-scenes motif. Carlotta Adams was the woman all right, but I should put it one of two ways. She went there for purposes of her own – blackmail, maybe, since she hinted she was going to get money. They had a bit of a dispute. He turned nasty, she turned nasty, and she finished him off. And I should say that when she got home she went all to pieces. She hadn’t meant murder. It’s my belief she took an overdose on purpose as the easiest way out.’