normal. I felt it would be better for her to have a job in London and come home for weekends, but not to be forced into Mary's company the whole time. Oh, I suppose I've made a mess of everything. But where is she, M. Poirot?
Where is she? Do you think she may have lost her memory? One hears of such things.'
'Yes,' said Poirot, 'that is a possibility.
In her state she may be wandering about quite unaware of who she is. Or she may have had an accident. That is less likely.
I can assure you that I have made all enquiries in hospitals and other places.'
'You don't think she is - you don't think she's dead?'
'She would be easier to find dead than alive, I can assure you. Please calm yourself, Mr. Restarick. Remember she may have friends of whom you know nothing. Friends in any part of England, friends whom she has known while living with her mother, or with her aunt, or friends who were friends of school friends of hers. All these things take time to sort out. It may be - you must prepare yourself - that she is with a boy-friend of some kind.'
'David Baker? If I thought that - '
'She is not with David Baker. That,' said Poirot dryly, 'I ascertained first of all.'
'How do I know what friends she has?' He sighed. 'If I find her, when I find her - I'd rather put it that way - I'm going to take her out of all this.'
'Out of all what?'
'Out of this country. I have been miserable, M. Poirot, miserable ever since I returned here. I always hated City life.
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 of Meadowfield 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.
'He might have insisted on coming with me,' said Hercule Poirot. 'That would have hampered me in asking you the questions that I wish to ask, because it is likely that the answers to them might cause him pain and distress. There is no reason why he should be caused further distress than he is already suffering at this moment.'
'Has anything happened to Norma?'
'I hope not… There is, however, a possibility of that. You remember the girl, Miss Battersby?'
'I remember all my pupils. I have an excellent memory. Meadowfield, in any case, is not a very large school. Two hundred girls, no more.'
'Why have you resigned from it, Miss Battersby?'
'Really, M. Poirot, I cannot see that that is any of your business.'
'No, I am merely expressing my quite natural curiosity.'
'I am seventy. Is that not a reason?'
'Not in your case, I should say. You appear to me to be in full vigour and energy, fully capable of continuing your headmistress-ship for a good many years to come.'
'Times change, M. Poirot. One does not always like the way they are changing.
