“Did you use your bathroom at all when you came in?”
“I sponged my face and hands, that’s all.”
“You did not turn on the bath at all?”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t.”
Poirot nodded. He said:
“It is of no importance.”
IV
Hercule Poirot stood by the table where Mrs. Gardener was wrestling with a jig-saw. She looked up and jumped.
“Why, M. Poirot, how very quietly you came up beside me! I never heard you. Have you just come back from the inquest? You know, the very thought of that inquest makes me so nervous, I don’t know what to do. That’s why I’m doing this puzzle. I just felt I couldn’t sit outside on the beach as usual. As Mr. Gardener knows, when my nerves are all upset, there’s nothing like one of these puzzles for calming me. There now, where does this white piece fit in? It must be part of the fur rug, but I don’t seem to see….”
Gently Poirot’s hand took the piece from her. He said:
“It fits, Madame, here. It is part of the cat.”
“It can’t be. It’s a black cat.”
“A black cat, yes, but you see the tip of the black cat’s tail happens to be white.”
“Why, so it does! How clever of you! But I do think the people who make puzzles are kind of mean. They just go out of their way to deceive you.”
She fitted in another piece and then resumed.
“You know, M. Poirot, I’ve been watching you this last day or two. I just wanted to watch you detecting if you know what I mean—not that it doesn’t sound rather heartless put like that, as though it were all a game—and a poor creature killed. Oh dear, every time I think of it I get the shivers! I told Mr. Gardener this morning I’d just got to get away from here, and now the inquest’s over he thinks we’ll be able to leave tomorrow, and that’s a blessing, I’m sure. But about detecting, I would so like to know your methods—you know, I’d feel privileged if you’d just explain it to me.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“It is a little like your puzzle, Madame. One assembles the pieces. It is like a mosaic—many colours and patterns—and every strange-shaped little piece must be fitted into its own place.”
“Now isn’t that interesting? Why, I’m sure you explain it just too beautifully.”
Poirot went on:
“And sometimes it is like that piece of your puzzle just now. One arranges very methodically the pieces of the puzzle—one sorts the colours—and then perhaps a piece of one colour that should fit in with—say, the fur rug, fits in instead in a black cat’s tail.”
“Why, if that doesn’t sound too fascinating! And are there a great many pieces, M. Poirot?”
“Yes, Madame. Almost everyone here in this hotel has given me a piece for my puzzle. You amongst them.”
“Me?” Mrs. Gardener’s tone was shrill.
“Yes, a remark of yours, Madame, was exceedingly helpful. I might say it was illuminating.”
“Well, if that isn’t too lovely! Can’t you tell me some more, M. Poirot?”
“Ah! Madame, I reserve the explanations for the last chapter.”
Mrs. Gardener murmured:
“If that isn’t just too bad!”
V