The A.B.C. Murders (Hercule Poirot 13)

“You were satisfied with her?”

“She was a good waitress—quick and obliging.”

“She was pretty, yes?” inquired Poirot.

Miss Merrion, in her turn, gave him an “Oh, these foreigners” look.

“She was a nice, clean-looking girl,” she said distantly.

“What time did she go off duty last night?” asked Crome.

“Eight o’clock. We close at eight. We do not serve dinners. There is no demand for them. Scrambled eggs and tea (Poirot shuddered) people come in for up to seven o’clock and sometimes after, but our rush is over by 6:30.”

“Did she mention to you how she proposed to spend her evening?”

“Certainly not,” said Miss Merrion emphatically. “We were not on those terms.”

“No one came in and called for her? Anything like that?”

“No.”

“Did she seem quite her ordinary self? Not excited or depressed?”

“Really I could not say,” said Miss Merrion aloofly.

“How many waitresses do you employ?”

“Two normally, and an extra two after the 20th July until the end of August.”

“But Elizabeth Barnard was not one of the extras?”

“Miss Barnard was one of the regulars.”

“What about the other one?”

“Miss Higley? She is a very nice young lady.”

“Were she and Miss Barnard friends?”

“Really I could not say.”

“Perhaps we’d better have a word with her.”

“Now?”

“If you please.”

“I will send her to you,” said Miss Merrion, rising. “Please keep her as short a time as possible. This is the morning coffee rush hour.”

The feline and gingery Miss Merrion left the room.

“Very refined,” remarked Inspector Kelsey. He mimicked the lady’s mincing tone. “Really I could not say.”

A plump girl, slightly out of breath, with dark hair, rosy cheeks and dark eyes goggling with excitement, bounced in.

“Miss Merrion sent me,” she announced breathlessly.

“Miss Higley?”