His manservant, George, entered the room, closing the door discreetly behind him.
“A young lady is here, sir. The young lady who came the other day.” The words came too aptly with what Poirot was thinking. He sat up in a startled fashion.
“The young lady who came at breakfast time?” “Oh no, sir. I mean the young lady who came with Sir Roderick Horsefield.” “Ah, indeed.” Poirot raised his eyebrows. “Bring her in. Where is she?” “I showed her into Miss Lemon’s room, sir.” “Ah. Yes, bring her in.” Sonia did not wait for George to announce her. She came into the room ahead of him with a quick and rather aggressive step.
“It has been difficult for me to get away, but I have come to tell you that I did not take those papers. I did not steal anything.
You understand?” “Has anybody said that you had?” Poirot asked. “Sit down. Mademoiselle.” “I do not want to sit down. I have very little time. I just came to tell you that it is absolutely untrue. I am very honest and I do what I am told.” “I take your point. I have already taken it. Your statement is that you have not removed any papers, information, letters, documents of any kind from Sir Roderick Horsefield’s house? That is so, is it not?” “Yes, and I’ve come to tell you it is so.
He believes me. He knows that I would not do such a thing.” “Very well then. That is a statement and I note it.” “Do you think you are going to find those papers?” “I have other enquiries in hand,” said Poirot. “Sir Roderick’s papers will have to take their turn.” “He is worried. He is very worried.
There is something that I cannot say to him. I will say it to you. He loses things.
Things are not put away where he thinks they are. He puts them in — how do you say it — in funny places. Oh I know.
You suspect me. Everyone suspects me because I am foreign. Because I come from a foreign country and so they think — they think I steal secret papers like in one of your silly English spy stories. I am not like that. I am an intellectual.” “Aha,” said Poirot. “It is always nice to know.” He added: “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” “Why should I?” “One never knows.” “What are these other cases you speak of?” “Ah, I do not want to detain you. It is your day out, perhaps.” “Yes. I have one day a week when I can do what I like. I can come to London.
I can go to the British Museum.” “Ah yes and to the Victoria and Albert also, no doubt.” “That is so.” “And to the National Gallery and see the pictures. And on a fine day you can go to Kensington Gardens, or perhaps as far as Kew Gardens.” She stiffened… She shot him an angry questioning glance.
“Why do you say Kew Gardens?” “Because there are some very fine plants and shrubs and trees there. Ah! you should not miss Kew Gardens. The admission fee is very small. A penny I think, or twopence. And for that you can go and see tropical trees, or you can sit on a seat and read a book.” He smiled at her disarmingly and was interested to notice that her uneasiness was increased. “But I must not detain you. Mademoiselle. You have perhaps friends to visit at one of the Embassies, maybe.” “Why do you say that?” “No particular reason. You are, as you say, a foreigner and it is quite possible you may have friends connected with your own Embassy here.” “Someone has told you things. Someone has made accusations against me! I tell you he is a silly old man who mislays things.
That is all! And he knows nothing of importance. He has no secret papers or documents. He never has had.” “Ah, but you are not quite thinking of what you are saying. Time passes, you know. He was once an important man who did know important secrets.” “You are trying to frighten me.” “No, no. I am not being so melodramatic as that.” “Mrs. Restarick. It is Mrs. Restarick who has been telling you things. She does not like me.” “She has not said so to me.” “Well, I do not like her. She is the kind of woman I mistrust. I think she has secrets.” “Indeed?” “Yes, I think she has secrets from her husband. I think she goes up to London or to other places to meet other men. To meet at any rate one other man.” “Indeed,” said Poirot, “that is very interesting. You think she goes to meet another man?” “Yes, I do. She goes up to London very often and I do not think she always tells her husband, or she says it is shopping or things she has to buy. All those sort of things. He is busy in the office and he does not think of why his wife comes up. She is more in London than she is in the country.