Chapter 9 The Second Death
Though I did not understand the reason for Poirot’s agitation¹, I knew him well enough to be sure that he had a reason for it.
We arrived at Rosedew Mansions², Poirot sprang out, paid the driver and hurried into the building. Miss Adams’ flat was on the first floor, as a visiting-card stuck on a board informed us.
Poirot hurried up the stairs, not waiting to summon the lift which was at one of the upper floors.
He knocked and rang. There was a short delay, then the door was opened by a neat middle-aged³ woman with hair drawn⁴ tightly back from her face. Her eyelids⁵ were reddened as though with weeping.
‘Miss Adams?’ demanded Poirot eagerly.
The woman looked at him.
‘Haven’t you heard?’
‘Heard? Heard what?’
His face had gone deadly pale, and I realized that this, whatever it was, was what he had feared.
The woman continued slowly to shake her head.
‘She’s dead. Passed away in her sleep. It’s terrible.’
Poirot leaned against the doorpost.
‘Too late,’ he murmured.
His agitation was so apparent that the woman looked at him with more attention.
‘Excuse me, sir, but are you a friend of hers? I do not remember seeing you come here before?’
Poirot did not reply to this directly. Instead he said:
‘You have had a doctor? What did he say?’
‘Took an overdose of a sleeping draught⁶. Oh! the pity of it! Such a nice young lady. Nasty dangerous things – these drugs. Veronal he said it was.’
Poirot suddenly stood upright. His manner took on a new authority.
‘I must come in,’ he said.
The woman was clearly doubtful and suspicious.
‘I don’t think –’ she began.
But Poirot meant to have his way. He took probably the only course that would have obtained the desired result.
‘You must let me in,’ he said. ‘I am a detective and I have got to inquire into the circumstances of your mistress’s death.’

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