eyes were gleaming with a peculiar excitement. He laid his stick on the table, and brushed the nap of his hat with his usual tender care before he spoke.
"It is as well, mon ami, that we have no affairs of moment on hand. We can devote ourselves wholly to the present investigation."
"What investigation are you talking about?"
"The remarkable cheapness of your friend's, Mrs. Robinson's, new flat."
"Poirot, you are not serious!"
"I am most serious. Figure to yourself, my friend, that the real rent of those flats is £350. I have just ascertained that from the landlord's agents. And yet this particular flat is being sublet at eighty pounds! Why?"
"There must be something wrong with it. Perhaps it is haunted, as Mrs. Robinson suggested."
Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.
"Then again how curious it is that her friend tells her the flat is let, and, when she goes up, behold, it is not so at all!"
"But surely you agree with me that the other woman must have gone to the wrong flat. That is the only possible solution."
