Third Girl

The boring round of office routine, continual consultations with lawyers and financiers. The life I liked was always the same. Travelling, moving about from place to place, going to wild and inaccessible places. That's the life for me. I should never have left it. I should have sent for Norma to come out to me and, as I say, when I find her that's what I'm going to do. Already I'm being approached with various take-over bids. Well, they can have the whole caboodle on very advantageous terms. I'll take the cash and go back to a country that means something, that's real." "Aha! And what will your wife say to that?" "Mary? She's used to that life. That's where she comes from." "To les femmes with plenty of money," said Poirot, "London can be very attractive." "She'll see it my way." The telephone rang on his desk. He picked it up.

"Yes? Oh. From Manchester? Yes.

If it's Claudia Reece-Holland, put her through." He waited a minute.

"Hallo, Claudia. Yes. Speak up - it's a very bad line, I can't hear you. They agreed?… Ah, pity… No, I think you did very well… Right… All right then.

Take the evening train back. We'll discuss it further tomorrow morning." He replaced the telephone on its rest.

"That's a competent girl," he said.

"Miss Reece-Holland?" "Yes. Unusually competent. Takes a lot of bother off my shoulders. I gave her pretty well carte blanche to put through this deal in Manchester on her own terms. I really felt I couldn't concentrate. And she's done exceedingly well. She's as good as a man in some ways." He looked at Poirot, suddenly bringing himself back to the present.

"Ah, yes, M. Poirot. Well, I'm afraid I've rather lost my grip. Do you need more money for expenses?" "No, Monsieur. I assure you that I will do my utmost to restore your daughter sound and well. I have taken all possible precautions for her safety." He went out through the outer office.

When he reached the street he looked up at the sky.

"A definite answer to one question, he said, "that is what I need."

Chapter Twenty

HERCULE POIROT looked up at the facade of the dignified Georgian house in what had been until recently a quiet street in an old-fashioned market town. Progress was rapidly overtaking it, but the new supermarket, the Gifte Shoppe, Margery's Boutique, Peg's Cafe, and a palatial new bank, had all chosen sites in Croft Road and not encroached on the narrow High Street.

The brass knocker on the door was brightly polished, Poirot noted with approval. He pressed the bell at the side.

It was opened almost at once by a tall distinguished-looking woman with upswept grey hair and an energetic manner.

"M. Poirot? You are very punctual.

Come in." "Miss Battersby?" "Certainly." She held back the door.

Poirot entered. She deposited his hat on the hall stand and led the way to a pleasant room overlooking a narrow walled garden.

She waved towards a chair and sat down herself in an attitude of expectation. It was clear that Miss Battersby was not one to lose time in conventional utterances.

"You are, I think, the former Principal ofMeadowfield School?" "Yes. I retired a year ago. I understand you wished to see me on the subject of Norma Restarick, a former pupil." "That is right." "In your letter," said Miss Battersby, "you gave me no further details." She added, "I may say that I know who you are, M. Poirot. I should therefore like a little more information before I proceed further. Are you, for instance, thinking of employing Norma Restarick?" "That is not my intention, no." "Knowing what your profession is you understand why I should want further details. Have you, for instance, an introduction to me from any of Norma's relations?" "Again, no," said Hercule Poirot. "I will explain myself further." "Thank you." "In actual fact, I am employed by Miss Restarick's father, Andrew Restarick." "Ah. He has recently returned to England, I believe, after many years' absence." "That is so." "But you do not bring me a letter of introduction from him?" "I did not ask him for one." Miss Battersby looked at him enquiringly.