her. Good portraits, both of them. Lansberger had been a good portrait painter. His mind dwelt on the portrait of the husband. He had not seen it so well that first day, as he had later in Restarick's office.
Andrew Restarick and Claudia ReeceHolland.
Was there anything there? Was their association more than a merely secretarial one? It need not be. Here was a man who had come back to this country after year of absence, who had no near friends or relatives, who was perplexed and troubled over his daughter's character and conduct. It was probably natural enough that he should turn to his recently acquired eminently competent secretary and ask her to suggest somewhere for his daughter to live in London. It would be a favour on her part to provide that accommodation since she was looking for a Third Girl. Third girl… The phrase that he had acquired from Mrs. Oliver always seemed to be coming to his mind. As though it had a second significance which for some reason he could not see.
His manservant, George, entered the room, closing the door discreetly behind him.
'A young lady is here, sir. The young lady who came the other day.' The words came too aptly with what Poirot was thinking. He sat up in a startled fashion.
'The young lady who came at breakfast time?'
'Oh no, sir. I mean the young lady who came with Sir Roderick Horsefield.'
'Ah, indeed.' Poirot raised his eyebrows. 'Bring her in. Where is she?'
'I showed her into Miss Lemon's room, sir.'
'Ah. Yes, bring her in.' Sonia did not wait for George to announce her. She came into the room ahead of him with a quick and rather aggressive step.
'It has been difficult for me to get away, but I have come to tell you that I did not take those papers. I did not steal anything.
You understand?'
'Has anybody said that you had?' Poirot asked. 'Sit down. Mademoiselle.'
'I do not want to sit down. I have very little time. I just came to tell you that it is absolutely untrue. I am very honest and I do what I am told.'
'I take your point. I have already taken it. Your statement is that you have not removed any papers, information, letters, documents of any kind from Sir Roderick Horsefield's house? That is so, is it not?'
'Yes, and I've come to tell you it is so.
He believes me. He knows that I would not do such a thing.'
'Very well then. That is a statement and I note it.'
'Do you think you are going to find those papers?'
'I have other enquiries in hand,' said Poirot. 'Sir Roderick's papers will have to take their turn.'
'He is worried. He is very worried.
There is something that I cannot say to him. I will say it to you. He loses things.
Things are not put away where he thinks they are. He puts them in - how do you say it - in funny places. Oh I know.
You suspect me. Everyone suspects me because I am foreign. Because I come from a foreign country and so they think - they think I steal secret papers like in one of your silly English spy stories. I am not like that. I am an intellectual.'
'Aha,' said Poirot. 'It is always nice to know.' He added: 'Is there anything else you wish to tell me?'
'Why should I?'
'One never knows.'
'What are these other cases you speak of?'
'Ah, I do not want to detain you. It is your day out, perhaps.'
'Yes. I have one day a week when I can do what I like. I can come to London.
I can go to the British Museum.'
'Ah yes and to the Victoria and Albert also, no doubt.'
'That is so.'
'And to the National Gallery and see the pictures. And on a fine day you can go to Kensington Gardens, or perhaps as far as Kew Gardens.' She stiffened… She shot him an angry questioning glance.
'Why do you say Kew Gardens?'
'Because there are some very fine plants and shrubs and trees there. Ah! you should not miss Kew Gardens. The admission fee is very small. A penny I think, or twopence. And for that you can go and see tropical trees, or you can sit on a seat and read a book.' He smiled at her disarmingly and was interested to notice that her uneasiness was increased. 'But I must not detain you. Mademoiselle. You have perhaps friends to visit at one of the Embassies, maybe.'
'Why do you say that?'
'No particular reason. You are, as you say, a foreigner and it is quite possible you may have friends connected with your own Embassy here.'
'Someone has told you things. Someone has made accusations against me! I tell you he is a silly old man who mislays things.
That is all! And he knows nothing of importance. He has no secret papers or documents. He never has had.'
'Ah, but you are not quite thinking of what you are saying. Time passes, you know. He was once an important man who did know important secrets.'
'You are trying to frighten me.'
'No, no. I am not being so melodramatic as that.'
'Mrs. Restarick. It is Mrs. Restarick who has been telling you things. She does not like me.'
'She has not said so to me.'
'Well, I do not like her. She is the kind of woman I mistrust. I think she has secrets.'
'Indeed?'
'Yes, I think she has secrets from her husband. I think she goes up to London or to other places to meet other men. To meet at any rate one other man.'
'Indeed,' said Poirot, 'that is very interesting. You think she goes to meet another man?'
'Yes, I do. She goes up to London very often and I do not think she always tells her husband, or she says it is shopping or things she has to buy. All those sort of things. He is busy in the office and he does not think of why his wife comes up. She is more in London than she is in the country.
And yet she pretends to like gardening so much.'
'You have no idea who this man is whom she meets?'
'How should I know? I do not follow her. Mr. Restarick is not a suspicious man.
He believes what his wife tells him. He thinks perhaps about business all the time.
And, too, I think he is worried about his daughter.'
'Yes,' said Poirot, 'he is certainly worried about his daughter. How much do you know about the daughter? How well do you know her?'
'I do not know her very well. If you ask what I think-well, I tell you! I think she is mad.'
'You think she is mad? Why?'
'She says odd things sometimes. She sees things that are not there.'
'Sees things that are not there?'
'People that are not there. Sometimes she is very excited and other times she seems as though she is in a dream. You speak to her and she does not hear what you say to her. She does not answer.
I think there are people who she would like to have dead.'
'You mean Mrs. Restarick?'
'And her father. She looks at him as though she hates him.'
'Because they are both trying to prevent her marrying a young man of her choice?'
'Yes. They do not want that to happen.
They are quite right, of course, but it makes her angry. Some day,' added Sonia, nodding her head cheerfully, 'I think she will kill herself. I hope she will do nothing so foolish, but that is the thing one does when one is much in love.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'Well - I go now.'
'Just tell me one thing. Does Mrs. Restarick wear a wig?'
