Best of Three: A Trio of Hercule Poirot Mysteries

Introduction

It began on one bright September morning. I was reading the paper in Poirot's study as he was opening his post. He did this, as he did nearly everything, with meticulous precision. His letter opener was perpetually polished and gleamed in the bright sunlight steaming in from the wide windows. Each envelope was slit neatly, the letter extracted and laid in exact alignment to the right angles of the desk. The envelope was then stacked neatly in a pile to the right as Poirot perused his correspondence. He sat back with a small sigh (he may have wished to sigh with more force, but out of concern for his moustache, he tried to refine from ruffling it whenever possible).

"Ah Hastings, there is not one case worthy of my attention today – tsk!" He clicked his teeth with frustration, "Are the talents of the great Hercule Poirot to be squandered on the search for the lost kitten," he gestured disdainfully at the neat stack of missives before him, "or is he to be reduced to the… how do you say? Ah – 'snooping'for the husbands who suspect their wives of conducting the amorous affair? Non! Non, Hastings! Hercule Poirot is a private detective of the first class, not a dog for hire to sniff out and follow les femmes!"

This type of speech was typical of my little Belgian friend. He was a truly brilliant man, but amongst his faults, pride and vanity vied for first place. He often saw cases as beneath him, but this time, I could not help but agree; divorces and lost pets were hardly suitable cases for one of the most eminent private detectives in the continent.

"Perhaps you should contact Japp." I suggested. The Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard was a friend of ours, and one who frequently came into contact with Poirot through overlapping cases. "I am sure they have a perpetual backlog of unsolved cases. Why not try your hand there? You have proven your grey cells can easily solve a fresh case, but how about an old one?"

"You suggest, mon ami, that I beg for work from the Chief Inspector?" Poirot looked disdainful. "Hercule Poirot does not beg."

"I say, Poirot, no need to jump down my throat. And my suggestion is a sound one; you'll be bored if you have nothing to do for the next few weeks. I'm not sure that even you can find enough to do in organising your clothes or tidying your moustache…"

At this my little friend's lip twitched. "It is true, mon ami, my attire and moustaches are already superbe… there is very little I could do to improve their appearance…" He considered me for a moment, egg-shaped head to one side. "Very well, Hastings, I will do as you suggest. However, I must insist that you join me."

"I don't know, Poirot." I sighed, casting my paper aside, where it crumpled against the arm of the sofa. "I never feel I am of much use to you in your cases, especially as you prefer to leave me in the dark until the very end. I am not willing to play Watson to your Holmes forever; a man does have his limits."

"Hastings, do not leave that newspaper in that abominable huddle s'il vous plaît." But before I could correct my mistake, he had left his desk, nimbly picked up the offending paper and folded it neatly, before setting it carefully on the side table. He continued, "Order and method, Hastings. Eh bien, if you cannot comprehend it in the simple matter of folding a paper, you will be unable to apply these principles to the criminal mind."

"I don't think folding a paper has anything to do with it, Poirot. You are just cleverer than I."

"Mon ami, if you would only use your grey cells, the brain le bon Dieu has given you…"

"Don't start now, Poirot. Your way of conducting cases always leaves me out, so no wonder I can never arrive at the solution. It's unsporting." I picked up the paper again and shook it out, intending to continue my perusal of the motoring pages. Poirot was silent for a minute, and I thought I had been successful in ending the subject. But then he spoke again,

"Unsporting? Mon ami, could we not have a 'sporting' case?"

"What do you mean?"

"I shall write to Chief Inspector Japp and ask him for three cases which are, as of yet, unsolved. He must give us the full particulars. We shall then travel to the location of the crime, and be permitted to ask three witnesses three questions. We shall then use our little grey cells and present our solutions to Japp. Japp shall solve the case using our new information, naturellement. The man who is closest to the correct solution shall claim the point. We shall have three cases, so it shall be the best of three. Eh bien - Hercule Poirot can be the sport!"

I considered his suggestion. Three cases, three witnesses, three questions each, and each of us privy to the same information. It was a 'sporting' idea and I am quite a competitive man. Best of three… that would give me a fair chance… Perhaps this time I could best my little Belgian friend…

"Poirot, I accept your challenge!" I declared, this time folding the paper carefully before putting it aside.