Hercule Poirot sat in his signature square-backed armchair, his gaze fixed on the mantelpiece. Yet his eyes lacked focus, as if staring at something beyond the physical world. Beside him, a small table held neatly arranged documents: Mr. Goby’s investigation report, information provided by Inspector Neale, and several loose pages titled Rumors, Gossip, and Hearsay, annotated with their sources.

He didn’t need to review the materials again—they were already committed to memory. Instead, he left them within arm’s reach in case inspiration struck, allowing him to cross-check details instantly. Poirot was certain that among these scattered clues lay a pattern—a logical thread that could unravel the mystery. “There must be a pattern,” he murmured to himself. “The question is, where do I begin to find it?”

Though not entirely dependent on intuition, Poirot understood its value. It wasn’t the intuition itself that mattered but the hidden truths it hinted at, buried beneath the surface of observable facts. To uncover those truths, he needed to combine logic, observation, and his keen sense of perception.

“What is the essence of this case?” Poirot asked himself silently. He resolved to start with the ordinary facts and work toward identifying the extraordinary. Money, for instance, was a recurring theme—though he couldn’t yet explain why his intuition directed him there. Shadows of financial interests lingered throughout the case, and Poirot suspected that malevolence lurked somewhere within the folds of greed. The exact nature of that evil, however, remained shrouded.

He recognized the complexity of the situation. The facts were diverging into two possibilities: first, that genuine danger existed, threatening someone’s life; or second, that the danger was a misunderstanding or illusion requiring a shift in perspective. His task was to clarify which possibility was true.

Poirot turned his thoughts to the key individuals involved, seeking breakthroughs in their personalities and actions. He began with Andrew Restarick. The man seemed to possess a dual nature: on one hand, a life marked by wanderlust and adventure, accumulating significant wealth across South Africa, South America, and Kenya; on the other, a weakness in matters of personal relationships. He had abandoned his family for a woman—was it love, or merely an escape from urban monotony? Poirot wondered whether this might connect to the current case.

His mind wandered back to the portrait on the wall of Restarick’s office—a depiction of the man from fifteen years ago. It portrayed a determined, bold figure, a man unafraid of risk. Why had Andrew brought this painting back to London? Was it a subconscious symbol of something unresolved? Poirot was intrigued by the psychological implications suggested by its presence.

Next, Poirot considered Frances Cary. The artistic, enigmatic woman’s relationship with David Baker stood out. David was a rebellious, shamelessly charming young man. Did he truly love Norma, or was he drawn to her wealth? Reviewing Goby’s report, Poirot noted David’s questionable history, which included financial troubles. But what truly caught Poirot’s attention was a significant payment David had received—a check, no doubt from Andrew Restarick.

“Was he trying to buy David off?” Poirot wondered. The act suggested that Andrew’s feelings for his daughter were far more intense than one might expect. He seemed willing to pay an extraordinary price to prevent an undesirable union. Yet David’s role in the transaction remained unclear.

Poirot’s thoughts inevitably returned to Norma Restarick. She was unquestionably the heart of the mystery. Her claim that she “might have committed murder” sounded more like the outburst of an emotionally distraught young woman than a confession.

A key detail mentioned by Mrs. Oliver—a woman falling to her death from an apartment building—resonated deeply with Poirot. The location and timing suggested a possible link to Norma. He suspected this death might be the “murder” to which she referred.

He retrieved the file on Louise Carpenter: a forty-something woman living independently, her lifestyle reportedly libertine. Further digging revealed a surprising connection—she was potentially the “Louise” Andrew Restarick had once loved. If her death was connected to Norma, what could it mean for the case? Coincidence, or a deeper conspiracy?

As Poirot immersed himself in these thoughts, the telephone rang. Initially intending to ignore it, he relented when Miss Lemon entered with a message.

“Mrs. Oliver is on the line. She says she’s found something new—a half-finished letter,” Miss Lemon reported with a touch of impatience.

“Tell her I cannot be disturbed,” Poirot replied, waving her off.

Moments later, another call interrupted his concentration. This time it was Dr. Stillingfleet.

“Poirot, she’s gone!” the doctor said, his voice urgent.

“Gone? What do you mean?” Poirot asked, sitting upright.

“She ran out of the gates on her own. I couldn’t stop her,” the doctor admitted, frustration evident.

Poirot immediately grasped the gravity of the situation. His instincts told him that Norma might be heading toward danger once again. Had someone found her, or had she stumbled upon some clue?

“The newspapers!” Poirot exclaimed aloud. “She must have seen something there.”

He instructed Miss Lemon to scan the personal advertisements section and began reviewing the latest papers himself. His eyes locked on an entry: “Urgent matter. Must meet. 4:30 PM. Codeword: Goliath.” His intuition screamed that this was a pivotal clue.

Throwing on his coat, Poirot ordered George to fetch a car. Just as he was leaving, Mrs. Oliver arrived, her dramatic entrance filling the narrow hallway.

But Poirot’s focus was singular. His mind fixated on the advertisement, he muttered to himself, “I must prevent another tragedy!”