Her sister Molly was extremely upset and bitterly unhappy about this, but I would like to say, which you probably want to know, I do not think that this can in any way be held responsible for the subsequent suicide of the married couple who were living so happily together. Grief for a sister’s or a sister-in-law’s death would hardly lead you to commit suicide.
Certainly not to a double suicide,” “Unless, perhaps,” said Hercule Poirot, “Margaret Ravenscroft had been responsible for her sister’s death.” “Good heavens!” said Dr. Willoughby, “surely you are not suggesting—” “That it was Margaret who followed her sleepwalking sister, and that it was Margaret’s hand that was stretched out to push Dorothea over the cliff edge?” “I refuse absolutely,” said Dr. Willoughby, “to accept any such idea.” “With people,” said Hercule Poirot, “one never knows.”
CHAPTER XV Eugene And Rosentelle, Hair Stylists And Beauticians
Mrs. Oliver looked at Cheltenham with approval. As it happened, she had never been to Cheltenham before. How nice, said Mrs. Oliver to herself, to see some houses that are really like houses, proper houses.
Casting her mind back to youthful days, she remembered that she had known people, or at least her relations, her aunts, had known people who lived at Cheltenham. Retired people usually. Army or Navy. It was the sort of place, she thought, where one would like to come and live if one had spent a good deal of time abroad. It had a feeling of English security, good taste and pleasant chat and conversation.
After looking in one or two agreeable antique shops, she found her way to where she wanted–or rather Hercule Poirot wanted her–to go. It was called The Rose Green Hairdressing Saloons. She walked inside it and looked round. Four or five people were in process of having things done to their hair. A plump young lady left her client and came forward with an inquiring air.
“Mrs. Rosentelle?” said Mrs. Oliver, glancing down at a card. “I understand she said she could see me if I came here this morning. I don’t mean,” she added, “having anything done to my hair, but I wanted to consult her about something and I believe a telephone call was made and she said if I came at half-past eleven she could spare me a short time.” “Oh, yes,” said the girl. “I think Madam is expecting someone.” She led the way through a passage down a short flight of steps and pushed a swing door at the bottom of it. From the hairdressing saloon they had passed into what was obviously Mrs. Rosentelle’s house. The plump girl knocked at the door and said, “The lady to see you,” as she put her nose in, and then asked rather nervously, “What name did you say?” “Mrs. Oliver,” said Mrs. Oliver.
She walked in. It had a faint effect of what might have been yet another showroom. There were curtains of rose gauze and roses on the wallpaper and Mrs. Rosentelle, a woman Mrs.
Oliver thought of as roughly her own age or possibly a good many years older, was just finishing what was obviously a cup of morning coffee.
“Mrs. Rosentelle?” said Mrs. Oliver.
“Yes?” “You did expect me?” “Oh, yes. I didn’t quite understand what it was all about.
The lines are so bad on the telephone. That is quite all right. I have about half an hour to spare. Would you like some coffee?” “No, thank you,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I won’t keep you any longer than I need. It is just something that I want to ask you about, that you may happen to remember. You have had quite a long career, I understand, in the hairdressing business.” “Oh, yes. I’m quite thankful to give over to the girls now. I don’t do anything myself these days.” “Perhaps you still advise people?” “Yes, I do do that.” Mrs. Rosentelle smiled.
She had a nice, intelligent face with well-arranged brown hair with somewhat interesting gray streaks in it here and there.
“I’m not sure what it’s all about.” “Well, really, I wanted to ask you a question about, well, I suppose in a way about wigs generally.” “We don’t do as much in wigs now as we used to do.” “You had a business in London, didn’t you?” “Yes. First in Bond Street and then we moved to Sloane Street, but it’s very nice to live in the country after all that, you know. Oh, yes, my husband and I are very satisfied here.