dubious affairs, thought to have been concerned in an important art robbery but no proof.
He's one of the arty lot. No particular means of subsistence but he does quite well. Prefers girls with money. Not above living on some of the girls who are keen on him. Not above being paid off by their fathers either. Thorough bad lot if you ask me but enough brains to keep himself out of trouble.' Mr. Goby shot a sudden glance at Poirot.
'You met him?'
'Yes,' said Poirot.
'What conclusions did you form, if I may ask?'
'The same as you,' said Poirot. 'A gaudy creature,' he added thoughtfully.
'Appeals to women,' said Mr. Goby. 'Trouble is nowadays they won't look twice at a nice hard-working lad. They prefer the bad lots - the scroungers. They usually say 'he hasn't had a chance; poor boy'.'
'Strutting about like peacocks,' said Poirot.
'Well, you might put it like that,' said Mr. Goby, rather doubtfully.
'Do you think he'd use a cosh on anyone?' Mr. Goby thought, then very slowly shook his head at the electric fire.
'Nobody's accused him of anything like that. I don't say he'd be past it, but I wouldn't say it was his line. He is a smooth spoken type, not one for the rough stuff.'
'No,' said Poirot, 'no, I should not have thought so. He could be bought off? That was your opinion?'
'He'd drop any girl like a hot coal if it was made worth his while.' Poirot nodded. He was remembering something. Andrew Restarick turning a cheque towards him so that he could read the signature on it. It was not only the signature that Poirot had read, it was the person to whom the cheque was made out.
It had been made out to David Baker and it was for a large sum. Would David Baker demur at taking such a cheque, Poirot wondered. He thought not on the whole.
Mr. Goby clearly was of that opinion.
Undesirable young men had been bought off in any time or age, so had undesirable young women. Sons had sworn and daughters had wept but money was money.
To Norma, David had been urging marriage. Was he sincere? Could it be that he really cared for Norma? If so, he would not be easily paid off. He had sounded genuine enough. Norma no doubt believed him genuine. Andrew Restarick and Mr. Goby and Hercule Poirot thought differently. They were very much more likely to be right.
Mr. Goby cleared his throat and went on. 'Miss Claudia Reece-Holland? She's all right. Nothing against her. Nothing dubious, that is. Father a Member of Parliament, well off. No scandals. Not like some M.P.s we've heard about. Educated Roe- clean, Lady Margaret Hall, came down and did a secretarial course. First secretary to a doctor in Harley Street, then went to the Coal Board. First-class secretary. Has been secretary to Mr. Restarick for the last two months. No special attachments, just what you'd call minor boy friends. Eligible and useful if she wants a date. Nothing to show there's anything between her and Restarick.
I shouldn't say there is, myself. Has had a flat in Borodene Mansions for the last three years. Quite a high rent there. She usually has two other girls sharing it, no special friends. They come and go. Young lady Frances Cary, the second girl, has been there some time. Was at R.A.D.A. for a time, then went to the Slade. Works for the Wedderburn Gallery - well-known place in Bond Street. Specialises in arranging art shows in Manchester, Birmingham, sometimes abroad. Goes to Switzerland and Portugal. Arty type and has a lot of friends amongst artists and actors.' He paused, cleared his throat and gave a brief look at the little notebook.
'Haven't been able to get much from South Africa yet. Don't suppose I shall.
Restarick moved about a lot. Kenya, Uganda, Gold Coast, South America for a while. He just moved about. Restless chap.
Nobody seems to have known him particularly well. He'd got plenty of money of his own to go where he liked. He made money, too, quite a lot of it. Liked going to out of the way places. Everyone who came across him seems to have liked him. Just seems as though he was a born wanderer. He never kept in touch with anyone. Three times I believe he was reported dead - gone off into the bush and not turned up again - but he always did in the end. Five or six months and he'd pop up in some entirely different place or country.
'Then last year his brother in London died suddenly. They had a bit of trouble in tracing him. His brother's death seemed to give him a shock. Perhaps he'd had enough, and perhaps he'd met the right woman at last. Good bit younger than him, she was, and a teacher, they say. The steady kind.
Anyway he seems to have made up his mind then and there to chuck wandering about, and come home to England. Besides being a very rich man himself, he's his brother's heir.'
'A success story and an unhappy girl,' said Poirot. 'I wish I knew more about her.
You have ascertained for me all that you could, the facts I needed. The people who surrounded that girl, who might have influenced her, who perhaps did influence her. I wanted to know something about her father, her stepmother, the boy she is in love with, the people she lived with, and worked for in London. You are sure that in connection with this girl there have been no deaths? That is important - '
'Not a smell of one,' said Mr. Goby.
'She worked for a firm called Homebirds - on the verge of bankruptcy, and they didn't pay her much. Stepmother was in hospital for observation recently - in the country, that was. A lot of rumours flying about, but they didn't seem to come to anything.'
'She did not die,' said Poirot. 'What I need,' he added in a blood-thirsty manner, 'is a death.' Mr. Goby said he was sorry about that and rose to his feet. 'Will there be anything more you are wanting at present?'
'Not in the nature of information.'
'Very good, sir.' As he replaced his notebook in his pocket, Mr. Goby said: 'You'll excuse me, sir. If I'm speaking out of turn, but that young lady you had here just now - '
'Yes, what about her?'
'Well, of course it's - I don't suppose it's anything to do with this, but I thought I might just mention it to you, sir - '
'Please do. You have seen her before, I gather?'
'Yes. Couple of months ago.'
'Where did you see her?'
'Kew Gardens.'
'Kew Gardens?' Poirot looked slightly surprised.
'I wasn't following her. I was following someone else, the person who met her.'
'And who was that?'
'I don't suppose as it matters mentioning it to you, sir. It was one of the junior attaches of the Hertzogovinian Embassy.' Poirot raised his eyebrows. 'That is interesting. Yes, very interesting. Kew Gardens,' he mused. 'A pleasant place for a rendezvous. Very pleasant.'
'I thought so at the time.'
'They talked together?'
'No, sir, you wouldn't have said they knew each other. The young lady had a book with her. She sat down on a seat. She read the book for a little then she laid it down beside her. Then my bloke came and sat there on the seat also. They didn't speak - only the young lady got up and wandered away. He just sat there and presently he gets up and walks off. He takes with him the book that the young lady has left behind. That's all, sir.'
'Yes,' said Poirot. 'It is very interesting.'
Mr. Goby looked at the bookcase and said Good-night to it. He went.
Poirot gave an exasperated sigh.
'Enfiny' he said, 'it is too much! There is far too much. Now we have espionage and counter espionage. All I am seeking is one perfectly simple murder. I begin to suspect that that murder only occurred in a drug addict's brain!'
Chapter Fourteen
'Madame,' Poirot bowed and presented Mrs. Oliver with a bouquet very stylised, a posy in the Victorian
