Why? He was actually in the house. He had taken the trouble to walk in without anyone seeing him. Again why? For what reason? Was he looking for the girl? Or was he looking for something else?” “You think he was looking for something ?” “He was looking for something in the girl’s room,” said Poirot.
“How do you know? Did you see him there?” “No, I only saw him coming down the stairs, but I found a very nice little piece of damp mud in Norma’s room that could have come from his shoe. It is possible that she herself may have asked him to bring her something from that room — there are a lot of possibilities. There is another girl in that house — and a pretty one — He may have come down there to meet her.
Yes — many possibilities.” “What are you going to do next?” demanded Mrs. Oliver.
“Nothing,” said Poirot.
“That’s very dull,” said Mrs. Oliver disapprovingly.
“I am going to receive, perhaps, a little information from those I have employed to find it, though it is quite possible that I shall receive nothing at all.” “But aren’t you going to do something?” “Not till the right moment,” said Poirot.
“Well, I shall,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“Pray, pray be very careful,5′ he implored her.
“What nonsense! What could happen to me?” “Where there is murder, anything can happen. I tell that to you. I, Poirot.”
CHAPTER SIX
MR. GOBY sat in a chair. He was a small shrunken little man, so nondescript as to be practically nonexistent.
He looked attentively at the claw foot of an antique table and addressed his remarks to it. He never addressed anybody direct.
“Glad you got the names for me, Mr.
Poirot,” he said. “Otherwise, you know, it might have taken a lot of time. As it is, I’ve got the main facts — and a bit of gossip on the side… Always useful, that. I’ll begin at Borodene Mansions, shall I?” Poirot inclined his head graciously.
“Plenty of porters,” Mr. Goby informed the clock on the chimney piece. “I started there, used one or two different young men. Expensive, but worth it. Didn’t want it thought that there was anyone making any particular enquiries! Shall I use initials, or names?” “Within these walls you can use the names,” said Poirot.
“Miss Claudia Reece-Holland spoken of as a very nice young lady. Father an M.P.
Ambitious man. Gets himself in the news a lot. She’s his only daughter. She does secretarial work. Serious girl. No wild parties, no drink, no beatniks. Shares flat with two others. Number two works for the Wedderburn Gallery in Bond Street. Arty type. Whoops it up a bit with the Chelsea set. Goes around to places arranging exhibitions and art shows.
“The third one is your one. Not been there long. General opinion is that she’s a bit ‘wanting’. Not all there in the top story. But it’s all a bit vague. One of the porters is a gossipy type. Buy him a drink or two and you’ll be surprised at the things he’ll tell you! Who drinks, and who drugs, and who’s having trouble with his income tax, and who keeps his cash behind the cistern. Of course you can’t believe it all.
Anyway, there was some story about a revolver being fired one night.” “A revolver fired? Was anyone injured?” “There seems a bit of doubt as to that.
His story is he heard a shot fired one night, and he comes out and there was this girl, your girl, standing there with a revolver in her hand. She looked sort of dazed. And then one of the other young ladies — or both of them, in fact — they come running along. And Miss Cary (that’s the arty one) says ‘Norma, what on earth have you done?5 and Miss Reece-Holland, she says sharplike, ‘Shut up, can’t you, Frances.
Don’t be a fool’ and she took the revolver away from your girl and says “Give me that.’ She slams it into her handbag and then she notices this chap Micky, and goes over to him and says, laughing like, “that must have startled you, didn’t it?’ and Micky he says it gave him quite a turn, and she says ‘You needn’t worry. Matter of fact, we’d no idea this thing was loaded.