With some difficulty he disinterred the local telephone directory from under a treatise on pigkeeping and looked up the Wetherbys' number.
The voice that answered him was that of Mrs Wetherby.
''Allo'? 'Allo? It is M. Poirot – you remember, Madame -'
'I don't think I -'
'Mr Hercule Poirot.'
'Oh yes – of course – do forgive me. Rather a domestic upset today -'
'It is for that reason exactly I rang you up. I am desolated to learn of your difficulties.'
'So ungrateful – these foreign girls. Her fare paid over here, and everything. I do so hate ingratitude.'
'Yes, yes. I do indeed sympathise. It is monstrous – that is why I hasten to tell you that I have, perhaps, a solution. By the merest chance I know of a young woman wanting a domestic post. Not, I fear, fully trained.'
'Oh, there's no such thing training nowadays. Will she cook – so many of them won't cook.'
'Yes – yes – she cooks. Shall I then send her to you – at least on trial? Her name is Maude Williams.'
'Oh, please do, M. Poirot. It's most kind of you. Anything would be better than nothing. My husband is so particular and gets so annoyed with dear Deirdre when the household doesn't go smoothly. One can't expect men to understand how difficult everything is nowadays – I -'
There was an interruption. Mrs Wetherby spoke to someone entering the room, and though she had placed her hand over the receiver Poirot could hear her slightly muffled words.
'It's that little detective man – knows of someone to come in to replace Frieda. No, not foreign – English, thank goodness. Very kind of him, really, he seems quite concerned about me. Oh, darling, don't make objections. What does it matter? You know the absurd way Roger goes on. Well, I think it's very kind – and I don't suppose she's too awful.'
The asides over, Mrs Wetherby spoke with the utmost graciousness.
'Thank you very much, M. Poirot. We are most grateful.'
Poirot replaced the receiver and glanced at his watch
He went to the kitchen.
'Madame, I shall not be in to lunch. I have to go to Kilchester.'
'Thank goodness,' said Maureen. 'I didn't get to that pudding in time. It had boiled dry. I think it's really all right – just a little scorched perhaps. In case it tasted rather nasty I thought I would open a bottle of those raspberries I put up last summer. They seem to have a bit of mould on top but they say nowadays that that doesn't matter. It's really rather good for you – practically penicillin.'
Poirot left the house, glad that scorched pudding and near-penicillin were not to be his portion today. Better – far better – eat macaroni and custard and plums at the Blue Cat than the improvisations of Maureen Summerhayes.
II
At Laburnums a little friction had arisen.
'Of course, Robin, you never seem to remember anything when you are working on a play.'
Robin was contrite.
'Madre, I am most terribly sorry. I'd forgotten all about its being Janet's night out.'
'It doesn't matter at all,' said Mrs Upward coldly.
'Of course it matters. I'll ring up the Rep and tell them we'll go tomorrow night instead.'
'You'll do nothing of the sort. You've arranged to go tonight and you'll go.'
'But really -'
'That's settled.'
'Shall I ask Janet to go out another night?'
'Certainly not. She hates to have her plans disarranged.'
'I'm sure she wouldn't really mind. Not if I put it to her -'
'You'll do nothing of the sort, Robin. Please don't go upsetting Janet. And don't go on about it. I don't care to feel I'm a tiresome old woman spoiling other people's pleasure.'
'Madre – sweetest -'
'That's enough – you go and enjoy yourselves. I know who I'll ask to keep me company.'
'Who?'
'That's my secret,' said Mrs Upward, her good humour restored. 'Now stop fussing, Robin.'
'I'll ring up Shelagh Rendell -'
'I'll do my own ringing up, thank you. It's all settled. Make the coffee before you go, and leave it by me in the percolator ready to switch on. Oh, and you might as well put out an extra cup – in case I have a visitor.'
Chapter 16
Sitting at lunch in the Blue Cat, Poirot finished outlining his instructions to Maude Williams.
'So you understand what it is you have to look for?'
Maude Williams nodded.
'You have arranged matters with your office?'
She laughed.
'My Auntie's dangerously ill! I sent myself a telegram.'
'Good. I have one more thing to say. Somewhere, in that village, we have a murderer at large. That is not a very safe thing to have.'
'Warning me?'
'Yes.'
'I can take care of myself,' said Maude Williams.
'That,' said Hercule Poirot, 'might be classed under the heading of Famous Last Words.'
She laughed again, a frank amused laugh. One or two heads at near tables turned round to look at her.
Poirot found himself appraising her carefully. A strong, confident young woman, full of vitality, keyed up and eager to attempt a dangerous task. Why? He thought again of James Bentley, his gentle defeated voice, his lifeless apathy.
Nature was indeed curious and interesting.
Maude said:
'You're asking me to do it, aren't you? Why suddenly try to put me off?'
'Because if one offers a mission, one must be exact about what it involves.'
'I don't think I'm in any danger,' said Maude confidently.
'I do not think so at the moment. You are unknown in Broadhinny?'
Maude considered.
'Ye-es. Yes, I should say so.'
'You have been there?'
'Once or twice – for the firm, of course – only once recently – that was about five months ago.'
'Who did you see? Where did you go?'
'I went to see an old lady – Mrs Carstairs – or Carlile – I can't remember her name for sure. She was buying a small property near here, and I went over to see her with some papers and some queries and a surveyor's report which we'd got for her. She was staying at that Guest House sort of place where you are.'
'Long Meadows?'
'That was it. Uncomfortable-looking house with a lot of dogs.'
Poirot nodded.
