“Now that’s a funny question to be asking.”
“But I should like to know.”
“I’ll answer you. I didn’t think about her. Georgina kept a strict eye on the maids—and quite right too. The girl never looked my way once—which was bad taste on her part.”
“I have a feeling,” said Hercule Poirot, “that that girl knows something.”
He looked inquiringly at Mr. Reilly. The latter smiled and shook his head.
“Don’t ask me,” he said. “I know nothing about it. I can’t help you at all.”
He gathered up the tickets which were lying in front of him and went off with a nod and a smile.
Poirot explained to a disillusioned clerk that he would not make up his mind about that cruise to the Northern Capitals after all.
II
Poirot paid another visit to Hampstead. Mrs. Adams was a little surprised, perhaps, to see him. Though he had been vouched for, so to speak, by a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, she nevertheless regarded him as a “quaint little foreigner” and had not taken his pretentions very seriously. She was, however, very willing to talk.
After the first sensational announcement about the identity of the victim, the finding of the inquest had received very little publicity. It had been a case of mistaken identity—the body of Mrs. Chapman had been mistaken for that of Miss Sainsbury Seale. That was all that the public knew. The fact that Miss Sainsbury Seale had been probably the last person to see the unfortunate Mrs. Chapman alive was not stressed. There had been no hint in the Press that Miss Sainsbury Seale might possibly be wanted by the police on a criminal charge.
Mrs. Adams had been very relieved when she knew that it was not her friend’s body which had been discovered so dramatically. She appeared to have no idea that any suspicion might attach to Mabelle Sainsbury Seale.
“But it is so extraordinary that she has disappeared like this. I feel sure, M. Poirot, that it must be loss of memory.”
Poirot said that it was very probable. He had known cases of the kind.
“Yes—I remember a friend of one of my cousins. She’d had a lot of nursing and worry, and it brought it on. Amnesia, I think they called it.”
Poirot said that he believed that that was the technical term.
He paused and then asked if Mrs. Adams had ever heard Miss Sainsbury Seale speak of a Mrs. Albert Chapman?
No, Mrs. Adams never remembered her friend mentioning anyone of that name. But then, of course, it wasn’t likely that Miss Sainsbury Seale should happen to mention everyone with whom she was acquainted. Who was this Mrs. Chapman? Had the police any idea who could have murdered her?
“It is still a mystery, Madame.” Poirot shook his head and then asked if it was Mrs. Adams who had recommended Mr. Morley as a dentist to Miss Sainsbury Seale.
Mrs. Adams replied in the negative. She herself went to a Mr. French in Harley Street, and if Mabelle had asked her about a dentist she would have sent her to him.
Possibly, Poirot thought, it might have been this Mrs. Chapman who recommended Miss Sainsbury Seale to go to Mr. Morley.
Mrs. Adams agreed that it might have been. Didn’t they know at the dentist’s?
But Poirot had already asked Miss Nevill that question and Miss Nevill had not known or had not remembered. She recollected Mrs. Chapman, but did not think the latter had ever mentioned a Miss Sainsbury Seale—the name being an odd one, she would have remembered it had she heard it then.
Poirot persevered with his questions.
Mrs. Adams had known Miss Sainsbury Seale first in India, had she not? Mrs. Adams agreed.
Did Mrs. Adams know if Miss Sainsbury Seale had met Mr. or Mrs. Alistair Blunt at any time out there?
“Oh, I don’t think so, M. Poirot. You mean the big banker? They were out some years ago staying with the Viceroy, but I’m sure if Mabelle had met them at all, she would have talked about it or mentioned them.”
“I’m afraid,” added Mrs. Adams, with a faint smile, “one does usually mention the important people. We’re all such snobs at heart.”
“She never did mention the Blunts—Mrs. Blunt in particular?”
“Never.”