As we mounted the wide staircase the doctor came out of a room, black bag in hand.
“Anything to tell us, doctor?” inquired Clarke.
The doctor shook his head.
“Perfectly simple case. I’ll keep the technicalities for the inquest. Anyway, he didn’t suffer. Death must have been instantaneous.”
He moved away.
“I’ll just go in and see Lady Clarke.”
A hospital nurse came out of a room farther along the corridor and the doctor joined her.
We went into the room out of which the doctor had come.
I came out again rather quickly. Thora Grey was still standing at the head of the stairs.
There was a queer scared expression on her face.
“Miss Grey—” I stopped. “Is anything the matter?”
She looked at me.
“I was thinking,” she said, “about D.”
“About D?” I stared at her stupidly.
“Yes. The next murder. Something must be done. It’s got to be stopped.”
Clarke came out of the room behind me.
He said:
“What’s got to be stopped, Thora?”
“These awful murders.”
“Yes.” His jaw thrust itself out aggressively. “I want to talk to M. Poirot some time…Is Crome any good?” He shot the words out unexpectedly.
I replied that he was supposed to be a very clever officer.
My voice was perhaps not as enthusiastic as it might have been.
“He’s got a damned offensive manner,” said Clarke. “Looks as though he knows everything—and what does he know? Nothing at all as far as I can make out.”
He was silent for a minute or two. Then he said:
“M. Poirot’s the man for my money. I’ve got a plan. But we’ll talk of that later.”
He went along the passage and tapped at the same door as the doctor had entered.
I hesitated a moment. The girl was staring in front of her.
“What are you thinking of, Miss Grey?”
She turned her eyes towards me.
“I’m wondering where he is now…the murderer, I mean. It’s not twelve hours yet since it happened…Oh! aren’t there any real clairvoyants who could see where he is now and what he is doing….”