The Third Floor Flat

Episode 5 opens with a young(ish) woman being moved into an apartment in Whitehaven Mansions--apartment 36B, to be precise.  In the apartment above her, we see two other young women dancing together.  In the apartment above them we see Hercule Poirot...with a towel over his head, sneezing.  It turns out he's trying to steam-out a cold.  It also turns out that it's been three weeks since his last case.  In other words, he's utterly miserable.  Don't worry, Poirot, I have the feeling something's about to turn up for you.

Back in the third floor flat, the new tenant unpacks and pauses to stare up at the ceiling, from which the sound of the music being played in the apartment above is clearly audible.  sigh  Noisy neighbours are a pain, as I can attest from personal experience.  Of course, my former neighbours used to have drunken fights at 3am and had the police called on them on a regular basis.  Compared to that, a little music is a minor annoyance.

The new tenant goes upstairs and knocks lightly on the door of the apartment above hers, which goes completely unnoticed by the two young women within, who are laughing gaily--at what, I haven't the faintest idea.  Then she slips an envelope--addressed to Miss Patricia Matthews--under the door and leaves.  Well, that's a little passive aggressive.

One of the dancing women finally notices the note and brings it to her dancing partner...who continues dancing by herself.  Geez Louise, what is up with these people?  Anyway, she reads the note, which asks Miss Matthews to come see the new tenant--Mrs. Ernestine Grant--at her earliest convenience.  The friend notes that it sounds ominous and wonders what it could be about.

Patricia Matthews: Probably complaints about the grammophone or something.

Which implies that she's had complaints about it before.  She then goes back to dancing with her friend and throws the note in the trash, laughting.

Bitch.

Below them, Mrs. Ernestine Grant glares up at the ceiling.  And I don't blame her one little bit.

Next we see Poirot toddle out of the building--scarf pulled up to his nose--to mail some letters.  That's one thing about email: you can send it from your deathbed.  A car horn startles Poirot, but it's just Hastings, riding about in a flashy convertible that Poirot claims is probably to blame for his cold.  And it turns out Poirot is one of those people who insists on overdramatizing every ailment.

Poirot: As one approaches the end, one begins to see life as it truly is.

Dude, seriously, it's a cold.  Try having my job, you'd get them all the time.

Anyway, Hastings tries to cheer Poirot up by telling him that he's got tickets to a new murder mystery play.  Naturally, Poirot points out that a fake mystery cannot possibly compare to the real thing.  No offence, Poirot, but perhaps you shouldn't be quite so obvious about your desire for someone around you to drop dead so you can amuse yourself.  Hastings decides to sweeten his offer by betting Poirot 10 quid that he won't be able to solve the mystery.

Quid?  Quid!?  Listen, you stupid show, stop trying to destroy my sanity with your crazy British money that no one understands!  It's called a euro.  Euro.  Do you hear me?  Stop trying to be unique and get with the rest of the bloody continent!

Poirot agrees to Hastings' wager, though he claims that "the money, of course, is of no importance."  Of course it's not, no one knows what it means.  Anyway, the bet is a dumb idea on Hastings' part since we all know Poirot is going to solve the mystery play.  Or if he doesn't, he'll claim that the actual solution is nonsensical and his idea is the right one.  Either way Hastings, you're never going to get any money out of him.  Best case scenario, you break even.

Next we see a man get off an elevator, walk down a short hall and knock on a door.  We don't see his face, but the sinister music accompanying him tells us he's up to no good.  The door opens and it's good old Ernestine Grant.

Ernestine: Oh, it's you.  You'd better come in.

She seems somewhat surprised, but not frightened.

That night, Poirot and Hastings go to see their mystery play, which is rather badly acted.  Is it me, or do shows do this a lot?  Whenever we see people acting in the show--a play within a play, as it were--they always have to make a big show of acting.  It's as if they want to contrast the actors in the show with the actors on the show, who we're supposed to forget are acting.  Anyway, it's dumb and always serves to remind me that I'm watching a show.

During intermission, Poirot writes down the name of the murderer on a piece of paper, folds it and gives it to Hastings, telling him not to open it until after the play.  And if it were me, I would so peek! 

Just then, Poirot spots Patricia Matthews across the room.  She's laughing again (I hate laughers) and gazing soulfully into the eyes of a young man with her.  Poirot recognizes her from the building.

Poirot: An enchanting mademoiselle, n'est pas?
Hastings: Yes.

You're both idiots.  Personally, I'm hoping she's this week's murder victim.  Also, she has a stupid haircut.  I hate bangs.

Anyway, Poirot and Hastings go back to watching the play.  As the solution is revealed, Poirot looks increasingly disgusted.

Poirot: That's absurd.  The writer is an imbecile.

Hastings pulls out the piece of paper Poirot gave him earlier and, sure enough, Poirot got it wrong.  Awesomely, Poirot's theory is that the butler did it.  That was actually true in one Poirot mystery...well, sort of.

As they arrive back at Whitehaven Mansions, Poirot is still bitching about the play and the fact that the theater made his cold worse.

At around the same time (one assumes) Patricia Matthews is arriving home, accompanied by her dancing partner, the young man from the theatre and another young man.  The two couples run into a problem when it turns out Patricia can't find her key, despite the fact that she's sure she took it with her.  After a minute's discussion of how they might gain access to the apartment, Patricia--who seems rather more intelligent now that she's not laughing uncontrollably--remembers that there's a coal lift, which she uses to send her dustbins to the basement.  Since she doesn't bother to bolt the hatch in her apartment, one could theoretically take the lift up from the basement to her apartment.

Great security there.

The two gentlemen go down to the basement to try, while Patricia and her friend once again dissolve into laughter.  sigh

Back in Poirot's apartment, we see that I was wrong: Poirot is writing up a cheque, even though Hastings tells him it's not necessary.  Huh, turns out Poirot is less egotistical than I thought.  Poirot is interrupted when, from the wall, they hear the squeaking of the coal lift.  Poirot finds this odd since it's rather late to be putting out one's dustbin.  As someone who often takes her garbage out after midnight, I'd have to disagree with that.

Poirot and Hastings stick their heads through the hatch and observe the two young men breaking into a flat below them.  Hastings, naturally, suspects they are burglars, but Poirot doesn't think so because they are wearing evening dress. What, like burglars can't enjoy the theatre?  Criminals do have lives, Poirot.

They go out into the hall and find Miss Matthews and her friend sitting on the stairs and singing at the top of their lungs.  They're actually pretty good singers, but it's still rather obnoxious, given that it's late at night.  If they tried that in my building they'd soon find themselves out on their asses.  (Elderly strata council members with too much time on their hands and 8pm bedtimes do not mess around!)

We then see the two young men stumbling around the apartment in the dark.  Since they're not actually breaking in, I don't see why on Earth they can't put on a light.  Finally, they do, at which point they discover...they're in the wrong flat.  Briliant guys, seriously.  You're lucky you weren't greeted by a shotgun.  Oh wait, this is England.  Billy club?

The two seem rather more amused than anything else by their mistake.  At this point, I can only assume that the four young people are permanently stoned.  They find a letter addressed to Ernestine Grant, at which point, they realize that they've got off the coal lift on the third floor instead of the fourth.  They hear what sounds like somebody snoring and the smarter of the two then suggests that they rectify their mistake post-haste, but just then they spot a body on the floor.  A closer inspection reveals it to be Ernestine Grant.  Hmmm...a rather fortuitous mistake then.

Pat and her friend are still singing on the stairs when the young men exit apartment 36B and call up to them that they've found a body.  It turns out that Pat's friend is named Mildred.  Well, that's unfortunate, though no worse than Ernestine, I suppose.  Above them, Poirot and Hastings overhear the information about the body and you just know that Poirot is through the roof with excitement.  Plus, now Hastings is distracted from the money Poirot owes him.  Win, win.

Next thing we know, Pat is showing Poirot and Hastings into the third floor flat--I mean, it's not like it's a crime scene or anything--and introducing them to Mildred's date, whose name is Jimmy.  It turns out that Jimmy has heard of Poirot and is quite pleased to meet him, which allows Poirot to point out to Hastings that he is still, like, totally relevant.

Poirot then examines the crime scene--is anyone going to call the police?--noting that the doors to the coal lift were unbolted.  I guess all the tenants in the building figure that with Hercule Poirot in the building no one would dare rob the place.  It turns out that there was a reason Donovan and Jimmy were stumbling around in the dark as one of the guys informs Poirot that the light switch in the kitchen didn't work; the bulb must have been burnt out or something.

Poirot flips the switch and the light comes on immediately.  Hmmm...

Suddenly the snoring sound the boys heard earlier starts up again.  Following the sound, they find Mrs. Grant's maid asleep in her room.  Apparently she's one of those people who could sleep through WWIII.  Poirot decides to let her keep sleeping for the moment.  Sure, because why would you bother informing anyone about the murder you've just discovered?

And then--finally--the police arrive outside the building, led by our old friend, Chief Inspector Useless...I mean, Japp.

Japp: You'd better watch your step lads.  This is where the famous detective, Mr. Hercule Poirot, lives.

And, once again, I can't tell whether or not he's being sarcastic.  The guy either has the driest sense of humour on the planet or no sense of humour at all.

Back inside, Jimmy and Donovan are leading Poirot and Hastings through the flat and explaining how they came to find the body, which they show them.  Poirot comments that Mrs. Grant has been dead for some time.  He then notices blood on the hand and sleeve of Jimmy, who has sat down at a table near the body.  When Jimmy vehemently denies having touched the body, Poirot concludes that Mrs. Grant was killed at the table and then moved to the ground nearby.  Noticing a letter on the table, Poirot sends Hastings to find out when the last post was delivered.  Uh, didn't we just have an episode where the delivery of a letter was a major plot point?  Let's not get repetitive here.

At this point, Japp arrives at the apartment.  Geez, what did he do, stop in the lobby for a nap?

Japp: You'll be having murders in your back bedroom next, Poirot.

Yeah, maybe he should move to Cabot Cove.

Poirot introduces Japp to the victim, explaining that she had only moved in that day.  Wait, this entire episode so far has taken place in one day?  And Poirot's been bored?

Japp, of course, wants to know how the body was found.

Donovan: Well, I'm afraid that's rather a long story, Chief Inspector.
Japp: It would be.

Especially if you let Poirot tell it.

Next we see Poirot and the four young people sitting around a kitchen table having a midnight snack courtesy of...Pat?  She can cook?  And here I'd dismissed her as completely useless.  Anyway, it turns out that Poirot is starting to feel much better.  Well, of course he is; nothing like a murder to perk a man  up.  But only a real murder; Poirot is still bitching about the play they all saw earlier in the evening.  Dude, get over it.  It's not like you lost real money. 

Just as Poirot is complaining about the play's dimwitted policeman, Japp shows himself in and tells Poirot that Mrs. Grant's murder is a cut and dried case and of no interest to Poirot.  Seriously, Japp?  You know there's no such thing as a cut and dried case when Poirot's around.  If nothing else, I'm pretty sure that someone being killed in his own building is going to be of interest to Poirot.  I mean, that's just bloody cheek!

Anyway, it turns out that Mrs. Grant has been dead for 5 or 6 hours.  The maid--whom Japp has thankfully woken up--was out for the evening and failed to notice the body when she returned.  Poirot thinks it odd that the killer hid the body, though it makes sense to Japp and, for that matter, to me: delayed discovery of the crime gives the killer more time to get away.  And clearly the killer needed it, since he left not only a hankerchief with his initials--J.F.--but also a note, arranging a meeting with Mrs. Grant at 6pm and signed "Frazer".  He may as well have just taken a picture of himself with the corpse and taped it to the wall.

Mrs. Grant's maid stops by to ask if she can leave, since she can't imagine she could stay in the apartment.  I can't imagine the police would let her, what with it being a crime scene and all, but then preservation of evidence doesn't seem to be a big priority for Japp.  Poirot takes the opportunity to ask the maid if she went into the sitting room when she returned in the evening and she tells him she did and in fact put the evening's mail on the table.

Japp then confirms my suspicion that he cares not for preservation of the crime scene when he agrees to allow Poirot to root around in Mrs. Grant's apartment.  He doesn't think it matters since all they need to do to find the killer is track down "John Frazer".  And why he's convinced the first name is John is beyond me.

In fact, Poirot not only returns to the crime scene himself, he leads a virtual parade through the place, including not only Hastings, but the four young people in his investigation.  Leading everyone into Mrs. Grant's kitchen, Poirot describes the cornucopia of evidence the killer left behind.  Then he starts going through the garbage.

Hastings: Poirot, why are you rummaging around in the dustbin?

Uh...because obviously the police neglected to do so?  Honestly, where's Gil Grissom when you really need him?

Poirot emerges triumphant with a very small bottle.  Citing his cold, he asks Donovan to smell it.  Donovan removes the lid, sniffs and immediately drops to the floor.

Poirot: No, no, no!  Why did he take off the lid?  That is stupid!

Oh, SHUT THE FUCK UP, POIROT!  You didn't bloody tell him not to take the lid off, now did you?  You just told him to smell the bottle.  I might have taken the lid off myself.

Honestly, between Pat being an obnoxious bitch, Poirot being a whiny ass and Japp being even more incompetent than usual, Hastings is coming off as the least irritating person in this entire episode.

Donovan is quickly revived and Poirot instructs Hastings to take him upstairs and make sure he's okay.

Once Hastings and Donovan have left, Poirot informs Jimmy that the case is now solved.  He explains to him that all the evidence indicating a J. Frazer in the crime was planted (duh) and that there was nothing wrong with the light in the kitchen, it was just a ruse to get Jimmy into the sitting room.  Poirot points out that had the light in the kitchen been on, it would have been obvious to Jimmy that he and Donovan were in the wrong apartment; there would have been no need to go into the sitting room.  Poirot then pulls out the key to Pat's flat and explains that Donovan stole it out of her bag so that he would have an excuse to get himself and Jimmy into the third floor flat.

It turns out that the bottle Poirot had Donovan sniff was full of ether chloride, a powerful anesthetic.  Moreover, Poirot did not find it in the dustbin, he had it in his pocket.  Because....apparently he carries that stuff around with him at all times?  That...has some unfortunate implications.  Anyway, he knocked Donovan out and sent Jimmy out of the room for brandy, giving him time to go through Donovan's pockets without anyone noticing.

Poirot then discusses the hiding of Mrs. Grant's body.  He has deduced that the killer was looking for something in the flat and didn't find it.  He therefore needed to return to the flat, but only after the evening post had been delivered.  So, he hid the body in order that the maid would not notice anything amiss when she came in.  Poirot then shows Jimmy a letter that he also took from Donovan's pocket.  That guy has big pockets.

Jimmy: Are you saying then that Donovan murdered Mrs. Grant?

You're just getting that now?  Keep up, dude!

Jimmy, needless to say, wants to know why Donovan would kill Mrs. Grant when he didn't even know her.

Yeah, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say maybe he did.

Before Poirot will answer, he insists on asking Jimmy a personal question: is he in love with Pat?  Not only does Jimmy admit that he is, but Poirot says that if he were Jimmy's age, he'd be in love with her too.  WTF!?  Seriously, what is it with this girl?  She's not good looking, she's not charming (I'd go so far as to say she's an obnoxious bitch) and yet everyone is head over heels for her!  It's like that House episode where all the male doctors are charmed by their new female patient and it's up to the one female doctor to point out that she's clearly a psychopath.  And at least in that case, the patient in question was actually attractive.  Quite frankly, Mildred--awful name aside--is much better looking and far more pleasant that Pat and yet no one seems to give a crap about her.  Men!  That's all I have to say.  Men!

Anyway, it turns out that Donovan is engaged to Patricia and that she is the motive for this murder.  sigh  Of course she is.

Just then, they hear Hastings yelling.  Apparently, Donovan is making a run for it.  I guess he's discovered the letter and key are missing.  The lift is descending and Hastings races down the stairs.  Poirot sends Jimmy and a police constable after him, then slowly saunters down himself.  Meanwhile, we see Donovan above him looking down.  Sending the lift down empty; oldest trick in the book.

Hastings and co. catch up with the empty lift, while Donovan sneaks back into the third floor flat.  He opens the letter that Poirot apparently just left lying around, then climbs back into the coal lift.  In the lobby, Poirot catches up with his compatriots and actually explains to them that Donovan pressed the button in the lift without going down himself.  And I'm really rather surprised that nobody responds, "No shit, Sherlock."  I mean, I'm pretty sure even Hastings could figure that one out on his own.  Then they hear the squeak of the coal lift.

They run into the basement, but Donovan, hearing them, hides in the coal lift shaft and when they fail to find him, Jimmy figures it must have just been something else they heard.  Hmmm, on second thought, maybe he really does need Poirot to spell out every little detail for him.  Poirot, for the record, looks seriously pissed, but he follows the others out of the basement.

Donovan makes it outside and tries to escape...in Hastings' new car, which is awesome on several levels, not the least of which is the look on Hastings' face.  In fact, Hastings actually does the big, "Noooooo!" and jumps out in front of the car, forcing Donovan to swerve and crash.  Everyone is terribly concerned about Donovan's well-being, except, of course, for Hastings who is concerned about his car.  Can't say that I blame him; car trumps murderer.

Anyway, Donovan seems to have suffered nothing more than a scratch on the head (the same cannot be said for the car) and they take him back inside.  Why they don't take him straight to jail (they have a police constable with them, after all), I don't know.  Poirot retrieves the stolen letter from Donovan and has Jimmy read it.  It's from a solicitor telling Mrs. Grant that a marriage performed abroad is still perfectly valid.  Also in the envelope is a marriage certificate for Ernestine and Donovan Grant.  Well, Donovan not being a terribly common name, I assume you can guess the connection.

Jimmy: Who's Donovan Grant?

Okay, somebody clearly took the short bus to school.

Donovan then rather pathetically tells his story of how Ernestine refused to grant him a divorce and threatened to tell Pat everything.  When she took the flat right beneath Pat's, Donovan realized she was crazy enough to do anything.  I'm not really sure that qualifies as crazy.  Vengeful perhaps or pathetic, depending on why she's doing it, but not really crazy.   Anyway, Donovan went to see her--he was the mysterious visitor we saw earlier--and she told him about the letter she was expecting from her solicitor.  Donovan had tried to convince her that since they were married in Switzerland, it didn't count under British law, which is moronic.  Ernestine had already been told verbally by her solicitor what a crock of shit that was and was just waiting for written confirmation before she confronted Pat.  When Donovan couldn't convince Ernestine not to go to Pat, he shot her.  A bit of an overreaction, really.  I mean, shooting someone over Pat!?  Plus, Ernestine did have a valid point: proposing to one woman while already being married to another is a pretty asshole move.  Though, in all fairness, refusing a divorce when the marriage was clearly over was also very petty behaviour.  Come to think of it, these two should have stayed together, they deserved each other.

Donovan: I couldn't let her hurt Pat like that, could I?

Yeah, right, you were only thinking of Pat.  Couldn't you have killed her instead and saved me having to put up with her the entire episode?

Finally, Japp arrives and takes Donovan away.  Outside, as they watch Donovan being driven off, Poirot approaches Jimmy and convinces him to go to Pat and comfort her.  Sure, Poirot, she's already driven one man to murder, let's convince another guy to ruin his life over her.  If it was me, I'd suggest she join a convent; at least the habit would cover up that God-awful hairdo.

The next day Hastings contemplates the ruin of his car, which Japp refers to as "very expensive scrap metal".

Hastings: Hanging's too good for some people.

That would be funnier if Donovan weren't likely to actually be hanged.

Poirot: Hastings, my friend, Poirot is as magnanimous in defeat as he is modest in victory.

Which is to say, not at all?  Actually, what he's trying to say is that he's decided to pay up on the wager they made about the play.  Uh, I thought you agreed to do that half an episode ago.  And I wouldn't call not shirking on a fair wager "magnanimous".

But anyway, Poirot is cheerful now and, as he tells Miss Lemon, feeling entirely the picture of health.

Poirot: Poirot does not have colds, Miss Lemon.  It is well known that Poirot scorns all but the gravest of afflictions.

Except for when you don't.  Actually, now that I think about it, Poirot treats any ailments he suffers--however minor--as grave afflictions so, in that sense, his statement is entirely true.

So, that's the episode.  I'm going to assume that it was adapted from a very short story, since they had to pad it out with that ridiculously drawn out chase scene.  The biggest problem, of course, was Pat.  I'm sorry, but I just do not understand why everyone was so ga-ga about her.  There was a whole show/tell disconnect here.  We kept being told how beautiful and charming she was, while we kept seeing how plain and obnoxious she was.  Okay, she probably would have looked better without that hideous hairstyle, but nothing would change the fact that she was a self-centered bitch.  Then again, if you really want to see an example of a character that we are supposed to like, but who is truly horrible, tune into to our next recap.  Coming soon to a blog near you.