“I am, as perhaps you know, the tenant of the flat above. I like to be up high—in the air—the view over London. I take the flat in the name of Mr. O’Connor. But I am not an Irishman. I have another name. That is why I venture to put myself at your service. Permit me.” With a flourish he pulled out a card and handed it to Pat. She read it. “M. Hercule Poirot. Oh!”
