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"Who shall the victim be-man or woman?Man，I think.Some big-wig.Americanmillionaire.Prime Minister.Newspaper proprietor.Scene of the crime-well，what's wrong with the good old library?Nothing like it for atmosphere. As for the weapon-well，it might be a curiously twisted dagger-or someblunt instrument-a carved stone idol-"Poirot sighed. "Or，of course，"I said，"there's poison-but that's always sotechnical.Or a revolver shot echoing in the night.Then there must be abeautiful girl or two-""With auburn hair，"murmured my friend.
"Your same old joke.One of the beautiful girls，of course，must beunjustly suspected-and there's some misunderstanding between her and theyoung man.And then，of course，there must be some other suspects-an olderwoman-dark，dangerous type-and some friend or rival of the dead man's-and aquiet secretary-dark horse-and a hearty man with a bluff manner-and a coupleof discharged
servants or gamekeepers or somethings-and a damn fool of adetective rather like Japp-and well-that's about all." "That is your idea of the cream，eh?" "I gather you don't agree." Poirot looked at me sadly. "You have made there a very pretty resume of nearly all the detect