When Hercule Poirot stepped into the prosecutor Neil’s office, he was met with a formal and serious demeanor. However, once Neil’s young assistant had left the room, the atmosphere shifted, and Neil’s expression became noticeably more relaxed.

“Well, Monsieur Poirot, the legendary sleuth. What brings you here today?” Neil said with a hint of humor.

“Frankly,” Poirot replied with a slight smile, “I suspect you already have an idea.”

“Ah, yes,” Neil leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. “I’ve done some digging myself. But to be honest, I’m not sure there’s much substance to uncover.”

“Why do you call it ‘digging’?” Poirot asked with interest.

“Because you’re like a cat sitting at a mousehole, waiting patiently. But I must warn you, this hole might not even have any mice. That said, I admit there could be secrets—hidden deals related to mining rights, patents, or even oil. Still, on the surface, Joshua Restarick & Co. has a sterling reputation. It’s been a family-run business for generations, though that’s becoming less accurate these days. Simon Restarick had no children, and his brother Andrew only has one daughter. The family line is rather thin.”

“And Andrew Restarick himself?” Poirot prompted.

“Andrew is a bit of a wanderer. No scandalous rumors, but he rarely stays in one place. He’s spent time in South Africa, South America, Kenya—you name it. He’s never been keen on answering his brother Simon’s calls to return to England. He’s not fond of London, nor does he take much interest in the family business. Oddly enough, he has a knack for making money, particularly in mining. He seems to have a natural talent for striking profitable deals.”

“So, Andrew is quite conventional in his own way,” Poirot observed.

“You could say that. His brother Simon, though, was much more traditional. He ran the business alongside his wife, creating a very ‘respectable’ family dynamic.”

Poirot leaned forward slightly. “Does the family have any history of mental illness?”

Neil paused, thinking. “Not that I’ve heard of. Well, there was an elderly aunt who dabbled in eccentric religious cults, but that’s not quite the same as mental illness.”

Poirot shifted the topic. “It sounds like the family is very wealthy.”

“Extremely,” Neil replied. “Especially with Andrew’s contributions—mining rights, patents. If fully developed, these assets could be worth an astronomical sum.”

“And who would inherit these assets?” Poirot asked.

“According to Andrew’s wishes, likely his wife and daughter. Beyond them, there’s no one else who seems poised to benefit.”

Poirot made a note, then inquired, “What do you know about the Wadeburn Gallery?”

“The Wadeburn Gallery? There was some controversy there. A wealthy Texan bought several paintings, and one was later suspected to be a forgery. The gallery offered to refund the purchase, but the Texan insisted it was ‘authentic’ and kept it. It caused some rumors, but nothing substantial came of it.”

Poirot then mentioned David Baker.

“Baker is your classic ne’er-do-well,” Neil said disdainfully. “He haunts nightclubs and shady circles. His drug problems and bad behavior are common knowledge in those parts. Girls seem to fall for his ‘tragic artist’ act, but I’d wager it’s just a facade.”

Poirot raised an eyebrow but moved on to another figure. “What about Claudia Reece-Holland?”

“Reece-Holland is a shrewd politician, ambitious and cunning. He’s pulled off several legally questionable but ultimately unprovable deals in London. If you want to dig deeper, you’ll need access to higher-level intelligence.”

Finally, Poirot brought up Sir Roderick Horsfield.

“An affable old gentleman,” Neil said, shaking his head, “but his obsession with old documents is troublesome. He insists on preserving records that, under certain circumstances, could cause diplomatic headaches. Still, I doubt he has any malicious intent.”

As Poirot finished taking notes and rose to leave, Neil added, “By the way, regarding Louise Carpenter, I’ve had my team gather some related documents. They’ll be delivered to your residence shortly.”

Poirot nodded in gratitude but left the office with a furrowed brow. As he stepped into the bustling London street, he murmured to himself, “The connections between these fragments remain elusive, but I know the pattern is there. I must uncover it.”