Poirot paused in thought for a moment before picking up the telephone and dialing a number. When the call connected, he immediately spoke. “Mr. Goby, this is Hercule Poirot. Are you currently busy?”

“Not overly so,” came Mr. Goby’s characteristically composed reply. “But for you, Monsieur Poirot, I am always at your service. After all, you are one of my most valued clients. That said, I must admit, these young men under me are a constant source of headaches. They learn just a little and think they know everything, strutting around as if they’re masters of the trade. Finding good help these days, well, it’s not what it used to be. Still, we mustn’t expect miracles, I suppose.”

There was a brief pause before Goby shifted gears. “Now then, Monsieur Poirot, I assume you require some information gathering?”

“Indeed,” Poirot affirmed, nodding slightly even though Goby couldn’t see him. He proceeded to detail his request with precision.

As Goby listened, he muttered under his breath, “Hmm, very interesting… a bit tricky, perhaps, but not impossible.”

When Poirot finished, Goby replied with his usual efficiency. “Consider it done, Monsieur Poirot. I’ll assign my best people to the task. You’ll have your answers shortly.”

After hanging up, Poirot picked up the phone again, this time dialing Scotland Yard. He requested to speak with an old acquaintance. When the line connected, a gruff voice greeted him. “Poirot? Well, this is a surprise. You rarely reach out first.”

“Harrison, I need your assistance with a matter,” Poirot said, his tone light but resolute. “Though I must warn you, it’s a little… complicated.”

“Complicated? You’d better just spit it out,” Harrison replied, a trace of curiosity in his voice.

Poirot succinctly explained his request, but before he could finish, Harrison interrupted, incredulous. “You’re asking for information about a murder? Without a location? Without a timeframe? Not even the identity of the victim?”

“Exactly,” Poirot replied calmly.

“Mate, it sounds like you don’t have the faintest idea what’s going on!” Harrison scoffed. “This is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Frankly, it feels like a waste of time.”

Poirot was silent for a moment before responding in his distinctive, measured tone. “Perhaps. But you know, Harrison, the pursuit of a lead often begins with what seems futile. Trust me, no one is better than Hercule Poirot at turning chaos into order.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds. When Harrison spoke again, his tone was noticeably softer. “All right, if you insist. I’ll keep my eyes open and see what I can dig up. But don’t get your hopes up, Poirot.”

“That will suffice, Harrison. Thank you for your help.” Poirot hung up, a self-assured smile spreading across his face.