III
It was the habit of Hercule Poirot to leave nothing untested.
Though on the face of it it seemed unlikely that Miss?Carnaby was anything but the foolishand rather muddle-headed woman that she appeared to be, Poirot nevertheless managed tointerview a somewhat forbidding lady who was the niece of the late Lady Hartingfield.
“Amy Carnaby?” said Miss?Maltravers. “Of course, remember her perfectly¹. She was a goodsoul and suited Aunt Julia down to the ground. Devoted² to dogs and excellent at reading aloud.
Tactful, too, never contradicted an invalid³. What’s happened to her? Not in distress⁴ of any kind, Ihope. I gave her a reference about a year ago to some woman—name began with H—”
Poirot explained hastily that Miss?Carnaby was still in her post. There had been, he said, alittle trouble over a lost dog.
“Amy Carnaby is devoted to dogs. My aunt had a Pekinese. She left it to Miss?Carnaby whenshe died and Miss?Carnaby was devoted to it. I believe she was quite heartbroken when it died. Ohyes, she’s a good soul. Not, of course, precisely⁵ intellectual.”
Hercule Poirot agreed that Miss?Carnaby could not, perhaps, be described as intellectual.
His next proceeding⁶ was to discover the Park Keeper to whom Miss?Carnaby had spoken onthe fateful afternoon. This he did without much difficulty. The man remembered the incident inquestion.
“Middle-aged lady, rather stout—in a regular state she was—lost her Pekinese dog. I knewher well by sight—brings the dog along most afternoons. I saw her come in with it. She was in arare taking when she lost it. Came running to me to know if I’d seen any one with a Pekinese dog!
Well, I ask you! I can tell you, the Gardens is full of dogs—every kind—terriers, Pekes, Germansausage-dogs—even them Borzois—all kinds we have. Not likely as I’d notice one Peke morethan another.”
Hercule Poirot nodded his head thoughtfully.
He went to 38 Bloomsbury Road Square.
Nos. 38, 39 and 40 were incorporated together as the Balaclava Private Hotel. Poirot walkedup the steps and pushed open the door. He was greeted inside by gloom and a smell of cookingcabbage with a reminiscence of breakfast kippers. On his left was a mahogany table with a sad-looking

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