fact, I don't know what they'd do without her.'
'Was she Sir George's secretary before he married his wife?'
'I think so. I'm not quite sure. I've only known her since she came down here with them.'
'She doesn't like Lady Stubbs very much, does she?'
'No,' said Mrs Folliat, 'I'm afraid she doesn't. I don't think these good secretaries ever do care for wives much, if you know what I mean. Perhaps it's natural.'
'Was it you or Lady Stubbs who asked Miss Brewis to take cakes and a fruit drink to the girl in the boathouse?'
Mrs Folliat looked slightly surprised.
'I remember Miss Brewis collecting some cakes and things and saying she was taking them along to Marlene. I didn't know anyone had particularly asked her to do it, or arranged about it. It certainly wasn't me.'
'I see. You say you were in the tea tent from four o'clock on. I believe Mrs Legge was also having tea in the tent at that time.'
'Mrs Legge? No, I don't think so. At least I don't remember seeing her there. In fact, I'm quite sure she wasn't there. We'd had a great influx by the bus from Torquay, and I remember looking round the tent and thinking that they must all be summer visitors; there was hardly a face there that I knew. I think Mrs Legge must have come in to tea later.'
'Oh, well,' said the inspector, 'it doesn't matter.' He added smoothly, 'Well, I really think that's all. Thank you, Mrs Folliat, you've been very kind. We can only hope that Lady Stubbs will return shortly.'
'I hope so, too,' said Mrs Folliat. 'Very thoughtless of the dear child giving us all so much anxiety.' She spoke briskly but the animation in her voice was not very natural. 'I'm sure,' said Mrs Folliat, 'that she's quite all right. Quite all right.'
At that moment the door opened and an attractive young woman with red hair and a freckled face came in, and said:
'I hear you've been asking for me?'
'This is Mrs Legge, Inspector,' said Mrs Folliat. 'Sally, dear, I don't know whether you've heard about the terrible thing that has happened?'
'Oh, yes! Ghastly, isn't it?' said Mrs Legge. She uttered an exhausted sigh, and sank down in the chair as Mrs Folliat left the room.
'I'm terribly sorry about all this,' she said. 'It seems really unbelievable, if you know what I mean. I'm afraid I can't help you in any way. You see, I've been telling fortunes all the afternoon, so I haven't seen anything of what was going on.'
'I know, Mrs Legge. But we just have to ask everybody the same routine questions. For instance, just where were you between four-fifteen and five o'clock?'
'Well, I went and had tea at four o'clock.'
'In the tea tent?'
'Yes.'
'It was very crowded, I believe?'
'Oh, frightfully crowded.'
'Did you see anyone you knew there?'
'Oh, a few old people, yes. Nobody to speak to. Goodness, how I wanted that tea! That was four o'clock, as I say. I got back to the fortune telling tent at half-past four and went on with my job. And goodness knows what I was promising the women in the end. Millionaire husbands, film stardom in Hollywood – heaven knows what. Mere journeys across the sea, and suspicious dark women seemed too tame.'
'What happened during the half-hour when you were absent – I mean, supposing people wanted to have their fortunes told?'
'Oh, I hung a card up outside the tent. 'Back at four-thirty.''
The inspector made a note in his pad.
'When did you last see Lady Stubbs?'
'Hattie? I don't really know. She was quite near at hand when I came out of the fortune telling tent to go to tea, but I didn't speak to her. I don't remember seeing her afterwards. Somebody told me just now that she's missing. Is that true?'
'Yes, it is.'
'Oh, well,' said Sally Legge cheerfully, 'she's a bit queer in the top story, you know. I dare say having a murder here has frightened her.'
'Well, thank you, Mrs Legge.'
Mrs Legge accepted the dismissal with promptitude. She went out, passing Hercule Poirot in the doorway.
III
Looking at the ceiling, the inspector spoke.
'Mrs Legge says she was in the tea tent between four and four-thirty. Mrs Folliat says she was helping in the tea tent from four o'clock on but that Mrs Legge was not among those present.' He paused and then went on, 'Miss Brewis says that Lady Stubbs asked her to take a tray of cakes and fruit juice to Marlene Tucker. Michael Weyman says that it's quite impossible Lady Stubbs should have done any such thing – it would be most uncharacteristic of her.'
'Ah,' said Poirot, 'the conflicting statements! Yes, one always has them.'
'And what a nuisance they are to clear up, too,' said the inspector. 'Sometimes they matter but in nine times out of ten they don't. Well, we've got to do a lot of spade work, that's clear.'
'And what do you think now, mon cher? What are the latest ideas?'
'I think,' said the inspector gravely, 'that Marlene Tucker saw something she was not meant to see. I think that it was because of what Marlene Tucker saw that she had to be killed.'
'I will not contradict you,' said Poirot. 'The point is what did she see?'
'She might have seen a murder,' said the inspector. 'Or she might have seen the person who did the murder.'
'Murder?' said Poirot. 'The murder of whom?'
'What do you think, Poirot? Is Lady Stubbs alive or dead?'
Poirot took a moment or two before he replied.
Then he said:
'I think, mon ami, that Lady Stubbs is dead. And I will tell you why I think that. It is because Mrs Folliat thinks she is dead. Yes, whatever she may say now, or pretend to think, Mrs Folliat believes that Hattie Stubbs is dead. Mrs Folliat,' he added, 'knows a great deal that we do not.'
Chapter 12
Hercule Poirot came down to the breakfast table on the following morning to a depleted table. Mrs Oliver, still suffering from the shock of yesterday's occurrence, was having her breakfast in bed. Michael Weyman had had a cup of coffee and gone out early. Only Sir George and the faithful Miss Brewis were at the breakfast table. Sir George was giving indubitable proof of his mental condition by being unable to eat any breakfast. His plate lay almost untasted before him. He pushed aside the small pile of letters which, after opening them, Miss Brewis had placed before him. He drank coffee with an air of not knowing what he was doing. He said:
'Morning, M. Poirot,' perfunctorily, and then relapsed into his state of preoccupation. At times a few ejaculatory murmurs came from him.
