Six I
Mr. Goby sat in a chair. He was a small shrunken little man, so nondescript as to be practicallynonexistent.
He looked attentively¹ at the claw foot of an antique table and addressed his remarks to it. Henever addressed anybody direct.
“Glad you got the names for me, Mr. Poirot,” he said. “Otherwise, you know, it might havetaken a lot of time. As it is, I’ve got the main facts—and a bit of gossip on the side…Alwaysuseful, that. I’ll begin at Borodene Mansions², shall I?”
Poirot inclined his head graciously.
“Plenty of porters,” Mr. Goby informed the clock on the chimneypiece. “I started there, usedone or two different young men. Expensive, but worth it. Didn’t want it thought that there wasanyone making any particular inquiries³! Shall I use initials, or names?”
“Within these walls you can use the names,” said Poirot.
“Miss Claudia Reece-Holland spoken of as a very nice young lady. Father an MP. Ambitiousman. Gets himself in the news a lot. She’s his only daughter. She does secretarial work. Seriousgirl. No wild parties, no drink, no beatniks. Shares flat with two others. Number two works for theWedderburn Gallery in Bond Street. Arty type. Whoops⁴ it up a bit with the Chelsea set. Goesaround to places arranging exhibitions and art shows.
“The third one is your one. Not been there long. General opinion is that she’s a bit ‘wanting.’
Not all there in the top storey. But it’s all a bit vague. One of the porters is a gossipy type. Buyhim a drink or two and you’ll be surprised at the things he’ll tell you! Who drinks, and who drugs,and who’s having trouble with his income tax, and who keeps his cash behind the cistern⁵. Ofcourse you can’t believe it all. Anyway, there was some story about a revolver being fired onenight.”
“A revolver fired? Was anyone injured?”
“There seems a bit of doubt as to that. His story is he heard a shot fired one night, and he comesout and there was this girl, your girl, standing

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