“One moment,” cried Poirot, raising his hand and seemingly very excited. “We must have everything in order. Just as it occurred. It is a little method of mine.”
“A foreign custom, sir,” said Parker. “Reconstruction of the crime they call it, do they not?”
He was quite imperturbable as he stood there politely waiting on Poirot’s orders.
“Ah! he knows something, the good Parker,” cried Poirot. “He has read of these things. Now, I beg you, let us have everything of the most exact. You came from the outer hall—so. Mademoiselle was—where?”
“Here,” said Flora, taking up her stand just outside the study door.
“Quite right, sir,” said Parker.
“I had just closed the door,” continued Flora.
“Yes, miss,” agreed Parker. “Your hand was still on the handle as it is now.”
“Then allez,” said Poirot. “Play me the little comedy.”
Flora stood with her hand on the door handle, and Parker came stepping through the door from the hall, bearing the tray.