As we descended to the flat again he remarked in a low tone:
"We have decidedly to do with a man of method."
"Do you mean the murderer, or Count Foscatini?"
"The latter was undoubtedly an orderly gentleman. After imploring help and announcing his approaching demise, he carefully hung up the telephone receiver."
I stared at Poirot. His words now and his recent inquiries gave me the glimmering of an idea.
"You suspect poison?" I breathed. "The blow on the head was a blind."
Poirot merely smiled.
We re-entered the flat to find the local inspector of police had arrived with two constables. He was inclined to resent our appearance, but Poirot calmed him with the mention of our Scotland Yard friend, Inspector Japp, and we were accorded a grudging permission to remain. It was a lucky thing we were, for we had not been back five minutes before an agitated middle-aged man came rushing into the room with every appearance of grief and agitation.
