‘Quite possible,’ murmured Poirot, as the girl disappeared.
‘You will go out and join them?’
‘No, I shall await their return in the salon. It is cool there on this hot morning.’
This placid way of taking things did not quite commend itself to me.
‘If you don’t mind—’ I said, and hesitated.
‘Not in the least. You wish to investigate on your own account, eh?’
‘Well, I’d rather like to have a look at Giraud, if he’s anywhere about, and see what he’s up to.’
‘The human foxhound,’ murmured Poirot, as he leaned back in a comfortable chair, and closed his eyes. ‘By all means, my friend. Au revoir.’
I strolled out of the front door. It was certainly hot. I walked up the path we had taken the day before. I had a mind to study the scene of the crime myself. I did not go directly to the spot, however, but turned aside into the bushes, so as to come out on the links some hundred yards or so farther to the right. The shrubbery here was much denser, and I had quite a struggle to force my way through. When I emerged at last on the course, it was quite unexpectedly and with such vigour that I cannoned heavily into a young lady who had been standing with her back to the plantation.
She not unnaturally gave a suppressed shriek, but I, too, uttered an exclamation of surprise. For it was my friend of the train, Cinderella!
The surprise was mutual.
‘You?’ we both exclaimed simultaneously.
The young lady recovered herself first. ‘My only friend!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘For the matter of that, what are you?’ I retorted.
‘When last I saw you, the day before yesterday, you were trotting home to England like a good little boy.’
‘When last I saw you,’ I said, ‘you were trotting home with your sister, like a good little girl. By the way, how is your sister?’
A flash of white teeth rewarded me. ‘How kind of you to ask! My sister is well, I thank you.’
‘She is here with you?’
‘She remained in town,’ said the minx with dignity.
‘I don’t believe you’ve got a sister,’ I laughed. ‘If you have, her name is Harris!’
‘Do you remember mine?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Cinderella. But you’re going to tell me the real one now, aren’t you?’
She shook her head with a wicked look.
‘Not even why you’re here?’
‘Oh, that. I suppose you’ve heard of members of my profession “resting”.’
‘At expensive French watering places?’
‘Dine cheap if you know where to go.’
I eyed her keenly. ‘Still you’d no intention of coming here when I met you two days ago?’
‘We all have our disappointments,’ said Miss Cinderella sententiously. ‘There now, I’ve told you quite as much as is good for you. Little boys should not be inquisitive. You’ve not yet told me what you’re doing here?’
‘You remember my telling you that my great friend was detective?’
‘Yes?’
‘And perhaps you’ve heard about this crime- at the Villa Genevieve—?’
She stared at me. Her breast heaved, and her eyes grew wide and round. ‘You don’t mean—that you’re in on it?’
I nodded. There was no doubt that I had scored heavily. Her emotion, as she regarded me, was only too evident. For some few seconds she remained silent, staring at me. Then she nodded her head emphatically.
‘Well, if that doesn’t beat the band! Tote me round. I want to see all the horrors. What I say. Bless the boy, didn’t I tell you I doted on crimes? I’ve been nosing round for hours. It’s a real piece of luck happening on you this way. Come on, show me all the [missing].
‘But look here—wait a minute—I can’t. Nobody’s [missing].
‘Aren’t you and your friend the big bugs?’
I was loath to relinquish my position of importance. ‘Why are you so keen?’ I asked weakly. ‘And what is it you want to see?’
‘Oh, everything! The place where it happened, and the weapon, and the body, and any fingerprints or interesting things like that. I’ve never had a chance before of being right in on a murder like this. It’ll last me all my life.’