VI
When Poirot returned to his flat he was surprised to find an unexpected visitor waiting for him.
A bald head was visible above the back of a chair, and the small neat figure of Mr. Barnes rose
to his feet.
With eyes that twinkled as usual, he made a dry little apology.
He had come, he explained, to return M. Hercule Poirot’s visit.
Poirot professed¹ himself delighted to see Mr. Barnes.
George was instructed to bring some coffee unless his visitor preferred tea or whisky and soda²?
“Coffee will be admirable,” said Mr. Barnes. “I imagine that your manservant prepares it well.
Most English servants do not.”
Presently, after a few interchanges of polite remarks, Mr. Barnes gave a little cough and said:
“I will be frank with you, M. Poirot. It was sheer curiosity that brought me here. You, I
imagined, would be well posted in all the details of this rather curious case. I see by the papers that
the missing Miss Sainsbury Seale has been found. That an inquest was held and adjourned³ for
further evidence. Cause of death was stated to have been an overdose of medinal.”
“That is quite correct,” said Poirot.
There was a pause and then Poirot asked:
“Have you ever heard of Albert Chapman, Mr. Barnes?”
“Ah, the husband of the lady in whose flat Miss Sainsbury Seale came to die? Rather an elusive⁴
person, it would seem.”
“But hardly nonexistent?”
“Oh no,” said Mr. Barnes. “He exists. Oh yes, he exists—or did exist. I had heard he was dead.
But you can’t trust these rumours⁵.”
“Who was he, Mr. Barnes?”
“I don’t suppose they’ll say at the inquest. Not if they can help it. They’ll trot⁶ out the armaments
firm traveller story.”
“He was in the Secret Service then?”
“Of course he was. But he had no business to tell his wife so—no business at all. In fact he
ought not to have continued in the Service after his marriage. It isn’t usually done—not, that is,

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