Cards on the Table (Hercule Poirot 15)

“It was nice of him to come all this way—for a stranger—a girl he’s only met once.”

“Oh, he fell for you. Obviously. Men don’t do purely disinterested kindnesses. He wouldn’t have come toddling down if you’d been cross-eyed and covered with pimples.”

“Don’t you think so?”

“I do not, my good idiot. Mrs. Oliver’s a much more disinterested party.”

“I don’t like her,” said Anne abruptly. “I had a sort of feeling about her … I wonder what she really came for?”

“The usual suspicions of your own sex. I daresay Major Despard had an axe to grind if it comes to that.”

“I’m sure he hadn’t,” cried Anne hotly.

Then she blushed as Rhoda Dawes laughed.

Fourteen

THIRD VISITOR

Superintendent Battle arrived at Wallingford about six o’clock. It was his intention to learn as much as he could from innocent local gossip before interviewing Miss Anne Meredith.

It was not difficult to glean such information as there was. Without committing himself definitely to any statement, the superintendent nevertheless gave several different impressions of his rank and calling in life.

At least two people would have said confidently that he was a London builder come down to see about a new wing to be added to the cottage, from another you would have learned that he was “one of these weekenders wanting to take a furnished cottage,” and two more would have said they knew positively, and for a fact, that he was a representative of a hardcourt tennis firm.

The information that the superintendent gathered was entirely favourable.

“Wendon Cottage—Yes, that’s right—on the Marlbury Road. You can’t miss it. Yes, two young ladies. Miss Dawes and Miss Meredith. Very nice young ladies, too. The quiet kind.

“Here for years? Oh, no, not that long. Just over two years. September quarter they come in. Mr. Pickersgill they bought it from. Never used it much, he didn’t, after his wife died.”

Superintendent Battle’s informant had never heard they came from Northumberland. London, he thought they came from. Popular in the neighbourhood, though some people were old-fashioned and didn’t think two young ladies ought to be living alone. But very quiet, they were. None of this cocktail-drinking weekend lot. Miss Rhoda, she was the dashing one. Miss Meredith was the quiet one. Yes, it was Miss Dawes what paid the bills. She was the one had got the money.

The superintendent’s researches at last led him inevitably to Mrs. Astwell—who “did” for the ladies at Wendon Cottage.

Mrs. Astwell was a locquacious lady.

“Well, no, sir. I hardly think they’d want to sell. Not so soon. They only got in two years ago. I’ve done for them from the beginning, yes, sir. Eight o’clock till twelve—those are my hours. Very nice, lively young ladies, always ready for a joke or a bit of fun. Not stuck up at all.

“Well, of course, I couldn’t say if it’s the same Miss Dawes you knew, sir—the same family, I mean. It’s my fancy her home’s in Devonshire. She gets the cream sent her now and again, and says it reminds her of home; so I think it must be.

“As you say, sir, it’s sad for so many young ladies having to earn their living nowadays. These young ladies aren’t what you’d call rich, but they have a very pleasant life. It’s Miss Dawes has got the money, of course. Miss Anne’s her companion, in a manner of speaking, I suppose you might say. The cottage belongs to Miss Dawes.

“I couldn’t really say what part Miss Anne comes from. I’ve heard her mention the Isle of Wight, and I know she doesn’t like the North of England; and she and Miss Rhoda were together in Devonshire, because I’ve heard them joke about the hills and talk about the pretty coves and beaches.”

The flow went on. Every now and then Superintendent Battle made a mental note. Later, a cryptic word or two was jotted down in his little book.

At half past eight that evening

he walked up the path to the door of Wendon Cottage.

It was opened to him by a tall, dark girl wearing a frock of orange cretonne.

“Miss Meredith live here?” inquired Superintendent Battle.

He looked very wooden and soldierly.

“Yes, she does.”