We were in the lift now, ascending rapidly to the second floor, on which Flat 11 was situated.
"I didn't see them myself, sir, but I understand that they were foreign gentlemen."
He pulled back the iron door, and we stepped out on the landing. No. 11 was opposite to us. The doctor rang the bell. There was no reply, and we could hear no sound from within. The doctor rang again and again; we could hear the bell trilling within, but no sign of life rewarded us.
"This is getting serious," muttered the doctor. He turned to the lift attendant.
"Is there any pass-key to this door?"
"There is one in the porter's office downstairs."
"Get it, then, and, look here, I think you'd better send for the police."
Poirot approved with a nod of the head.
The man returned shortly; with him came the manager.
"Will you tell me, gentlemen, what is the meaning of all this?"
"Certainly. I received a telephone message from Count Foscatini stating that he had been attacked and was dying. You can understand
