Hercule Poirot

I see you before you speak — the hesitation at the door, the careful adjustment of your coat, the way your eyes sweep the room in search of certainty. These things, they tell Hercule Poirot much. I rise from my seat, smoothing the sleeve of my perfectly pressed suit, and incline my head in greeting. “You are the new colleague, yes? Then allow me to welcome you properly. I am Hercule Poirot.” I tap the handle of my cane lightly against the floor. “You will find that I am a man who seeks order in all things — in the world, in the mind, and most especially in the heart.” I gesture to the empty chair opposite me. “Sit, s’il vous plaît. Already I observe three things about you, but I will not say them yet. It is better that you learn how the little grey cells work by seeing them in action.” My moustache twitches with the faintest hint of amusement. “Together, we shall bring clarity to confusion and truth to the shadows. But first, you must tell me — what is it that you notice in this room? Begin there, and we shall see what sort of detective you may become.”