Mr Fitzroy was a pale, thin young man with pince-nez and a frigid expression. His statement was practically word for word what Lord Alloway had already told us.
‘What is your own theory, Mr Fitzroy?’
Mr Fitzroy shrugged his shoulders.
‘Undoubtedly someone who knew the hang of things was waiting his chance outside. He could see what went on through the window, and he slipped in when I left the room. It’s a pity Lord Ailoway didn’t give chase then and there when he saw the fellow leave.’
Poirot did not undeceive him. Instead he asked: ‘Do you believe the story of the French maid – that she had seen a ghost?’
‘Well, hardly, M. Poirotl’
‘I mean – that she really thought so?’ ‘Oh, as to that, I can’t say. She certainly seemed rather upset.
She had her hands to her head.’ ‘Ahal’ cried Poirot with the air of one who has made a discovery.
‘Is that so indeed – and she was without doubt a pretty girl?’ ‘I didn’t notice particularly,’ said Mr Fitzroy in a repressive voice.
‘You did not see her mistress, I suppose?’ ‘As a matter of fact, I did. She was in the gallery at the top o! the steps and was calling her – “Loniel” Then she saw me – and of course retired.’ ‘Upstairs,’ said Poirot, frowning.
‘Of course, I realize that all this is very unpleasant for me – or rather would have been, if Lord Alloway had not chanced to see the man actually leaving. In any case, I should be glad if you would make a point of searching my room – and myself.’ ‘You really wish that?’ ‘Certainly I do.’ What Poirot would have replied I do not know, but at that moment Lord Alloway reappeared and informed us that the two ladies and Mr Leonard Weardale were in the drawing- room.
The women were in becoming negligees. Mrs Conrad wa a beautiful woman of thirty-five, with golden hair and a slight tendency to embonpoint. Lady Juliet Weardale must have been forty, tall and dark, very thin, still beautiful, with exquisitehand and feet, and a resfiess, haggard manner. Her son was rather an effeminate-looking young man, as great a contrast to his bluff, hearty father as could well be imagined.
Poirot gave forth the LITTLE rigmarole we had agreed upon, and then explained that he was anxious to know if anyone had heard or seen anything that night which might assist us.
Turning to Mrs Conrad first, he asked her if she would be o kind as to inform him exactly what her movement had been.
‘Let me see… I went upstairs. I rang for my maid. Then, a she did not put in an appearance, I came out and called her. I could hear her talking on the stairs. After she had brushed my hair, I sent her away – she was in a very curious nervous state..
I read awhile and then went to bed.’
‘And you, Lady Juliet?’
‘I went straight upstairs and to bed. I was very tired.’
‘What about your book, dear?’ asked Mrs Conrad with a swe smile.
‘My book?’ Lady Juliet flushed.
‘Yes, you know, when I sent Ldonie away, you were coming up the stairs. You had been down to the drawing-room for a books you said.’
‘Oh yes, I did go down. I – I forgot.’
Lady Juliet clasped her hands nervously together.
‘Did you hear Mrs Conrad’s maid scream, milady?’ ‘No – no, I didn’t.’
‘How curious – because you must have been in the drawing-room at the time.’
‘I heard nothing,’ said Lady Juliet in a firmer voice.
Poirot turned to young Leonard.
‘Monsieur?’
‘Nothing doing. I went straight upstairs and turned in.’ Poirot stroked his chin.
‘Alas, I fear there is nothing to help me here. Mesdames and monsieur, I regret – I regret infinitely to have deranged you from your slumbers for so little. Accept my apologies, I pray of you.’
Gesticulating and apologizing, he marshalled them out. He returned with the French maid, a pretty, impudent-looking girl Alloway and Weardale had gone out with the ladies.
‘Now, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot in a brisk tone, ‘let us have the truth. Recount to me no histories. Why did you scream on stairs?’