Thirteen
Poirot seldom used the key to his flat. Instead, in an old-fashioned manner, he pressed the bell andwaited for that admirable factotum¹, George, to open the door. On this occasion, however, after hisvisit to the hospital, the door was opened to him by Miss Lemon.
“You’ve got two visitors,” said Miss Lemon, pitching her voice in an admirable tone, not ascarrying as a whisper but a good many notes lower than her usual pitch. “One’s Mr. Goby and theother is an old gentleman called Sir Roderick Horsefield. I don’t know which you want to seefirst.”
“Sir Roderick Horsefield,” mused² Poirot. He considered this with his head on one side, lookingrather like a robin³ while he decided⁴ how this latest development was likely to affect the generalpicture. Mr. Goby, however, materialised with his usual suddenness from the small room whichwas sacred to Miss Lemon’s typewriting and where she had evidently kept him in storage.
Poirot removed his overcoat. Miss Lemon hung it up on the hall stand, and Mr. Goby, as washis fashion, addressed the back of Miss Lemon’s head.
“I’ll have a cup of tea in the kitchen with George,” said Mr. Goby. “My time is my own. I’llkeep.”
He disappeared obligingly into the kitchen. Poirot went into his sitting room where Sir Roderickwas pacing up and down full of vitality⁵.
“Run you down, my boy,” he said genially⁶. “Wonderful thing the telephone.”
“You remembered my name? I am gratified.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly remember your name,” said Sir Roderick. “Names, you know, havenever been my strong point. Never forget a face,” he ended proudly. “No. I rang up ScotlandYard.”
“Oh!” Poirot looked faintly startled, though reflecting that that was the sort of thing that SirRoderick would do.
“Asked me who I wanted to speak to. I said, put me on to the top. That’s the thing to do in life,my boy. Never accept second in charge. No good. Go to the top, that’s what I say. I said who Iwas, mind you. Said I wanted to speak to the top

分享到：