“Yes,” murmured Poirot. “The stars fight against us—but is it the stars?” He lifted his head as though struck by a sudden idea. “Is it the stars, Hastings? If it is not—if it is not… Oh, I swear to you, my friend, standing here by this poor woman’s body, that I will have no mercy when the time comes!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
But Poirot had turned to the nurse and was eagerly demanding information. A list of the articles found in her handbag was finally obtained, Poirot gave a suppressed cry as he read it over.
“You see, Hastings, you see?”
“See what?”
“There is no mention of a latch-key. But she must have had a latch-key with her. No, she was run down in cold blood, and the first person who bent over her took the key from her bag. But we may yet be in time. He may not have been able to find at once what he sought.”
Another taxi took us to the address Flossie Monro had given us, a squalid block of Mansions in an unsavoury neighbourhood. It was some time before we could gain admission to Miss Monro’s flat, but we had at least the satisfaction of knowing that no one could leave it whilst we were on guard outside.
Eventually we got in. It was plain that some
