Elevator Man: Going up. (Sound of voices conversing in a crowd) Floor please.
Poirot: Number five. (Elevator door closes). You are new here, no?
Elevator Man: Uh, yessir, only came on yesterday. You're Mr. Porrot, aren'tcha?
Elevator Man: Well, Poirot. One of the boys pointed you out. Here you are sir, fifth floor. (Elevator door opens and closes)
Poirot: (Humming...bumps into a woman) Oh, a thousand apologies, madame!
Woman: (Old, reedy voice) Not a'tall, it was entirely my fault.
Poirot: Madame appears troubled. Perhaps I may be of some slight assistance?
Woman: No, I...well...if you're sure you don't mind.
Poirot: But of course not.
Woman: You see, it's my door, it won't open.
Poirot: Aha. And where is this obstinate door, eh?
Woman: It's right down the corridor, room 515.
Poirot: If I may have the key?
Woman: But that's just it! The door isn't locked. I left it open only ten minutes ago.
Poirot: Indeed. Madame is very trusting, eh.
Woman: Hmm. Here it tis. (Rattling of door) You see, it's stuck, it won't budge.
Poirot: It is not precisely stuck, madame. It gives a trifle. This door is barricaded.
Woman: Oh my goodness.
Poirot: (grunt, as if applying shoulder to door) Ah, voila, she moves, eh.
Woman: Oh, thanks a million. Now what do you suppose...
Poirot: No, wait madame. Perhaps it is better if I look first. Ah, alas, it is as I have feared.
Woman: (Quickly) What is it?
Poirot: You do not know? Look!
Woman: Oh! It's a man! Is he...is he...
Poirot: Oui, madame. He has been strangled. This is murder.
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