Chapter 5

I spent a restless night, my dreams plagued by imaginings of all the potential horrors Felicity could be enduring. Four-thirty found me in the living room, where I found Poirot had just brewed a large pot of coffee. He handed me a cup. I took it gratefully, the smell of caffeine going someway to soothing my frayed nerves. Before either of us had a chance to speak, there was a knock at the door. Poirot shot down the hallway, with me close on his heels. There was nobody there, but on the doorstep was a package. As Poirot picked it up, I rushed downstairs. I caught a glimpse of a overcoat as a figure ran out of the building. Chasing after, out on the street, I saw no-one. Mr. Dicker, our doorman, was coming back to his desk. I enquired as to whether anyone had come past.

"No, Captain. I've sat here for the past hour at least and seen no-one."

"Are you absolutely sure?" I pressed him. "Somebody left a package outside our door, and then ran out of here not three minutes ago."

"Not a soul came past here other than yourself, Captain."

I huffed in annoyance and ran back upstairs. Upon re-entering the flat, I found Poirot seated at his desk. His face was filled with a rage I had never seen before. I pulled the box toward me and removed the lid. Inside was the remains of a ladies' shoe, missing a heel. My hands shaking, I matched it up with the heel I had found in the street. Something fell out of the toe of the shoe. It was a necklace. The chain was broken and there were a few strands of hair caught in the clasp. Obviously it had been wrenched from her neck. My blood boiled at the thought of such a gentle woman being treated so abominably. I turned to Poirot, desperate for some words of comfort. In his hand was a letter. He held it out to me, his hands trembling as I had never seen before. The note was short.

"Mr. Poirot. The actions of you and your associates got my father hanged. You murdered him, his blood is on your hands. You took him from me, so I have taken someone from you. Her blood will also be on your hands. It is what you deserve.

Albert Inglethorpe"

I looked at my friend in horror and disbelief. "Inglethorpe? Inglethorpe had a son? A son who's a psychopath, and now he's got Fe. .Miss Lemon!"

Poirot half-smiled at my slip of the tongue. "I have telephoned to Chief Inspector Japp. He will come and take charge of this evidence. And you and I shall find out more about this Mr. Inglethorpe."

"He means it, doesn't he? We proved his father was a murderer, so he means to kill Felicity." I was beyond caring about propriety. I was rapidly losing the will to care about anything.

"I believe we still have time cher Hastings. The writing of the taunting note, it is a challenge to Poirot. He tries to make fools of us."

"You mean, if he really meant to do it, he'd just get on with it. Instead he tells us who he is and what he's planning, giving us a chance to stop him"

Poirot nodded. He always managed to find some way to reassure me.

"So where do we start?"

"With a visit to Pentonville. I should be very interested to see if Inglethorpe had any visitors and who picked up his effects."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I should like for you to remain here. There are two very important jobs you should do for me. One; wait for Inspector Japp to collect these things, and two; promise to stay here and rest."

"Pardon?"

"You can do her no good by exhausting yourself. When she returns she will need your strength, mon ami."

Poirot tipped his hat to me in his customary fashion and swept through the door. As the silence fell, so did the tears. A knock at the front door forced me to pull myself together. I answered the knock to Japp, ushered him inside, and disappeared into the kitchen to make some tea. We drank together in silence, the very image of English politeness, were it not for the gloom hanging over us. With a sensitivity that was unfamiliar, and took me slightly aback, Japp got the story out of me. He closed his notebook, picked up the box and prepared to take his leave. As he did so, he placed the photograph I had lent him on the table. "For you, Captain."