Stillingfleet, did you say?” He pushed past her, caught up the receiver. “I am here. Poirot speaking!
Something has happened?” “She’s walked out on me.” “What?” “You heard me. She’s walked out.
Walked out through the front gate.” “You let her go?” “What else could I do?” “You could have stopped her.” “No.” “To let her go was madness.” “No.” “You don’t understand.” “That was the arrangement. Free to go at any time.” “You don’t understand what may be involved.” “All right then, I don’t. But I know what /’m doing. And if I don’t let her go, all the work I’ve done on her would go for nothing.
And I have worked on her. Your job and my job aren’t the same. We’re not out for the same thing. I tell you I was getting somewhere. Getting somewhere, so that I was quite sure she wouldn’t walk out on me.” “Ah yes. And then, mon ami, she did.” “Frankly, I can’t understand it. I can’t see why the setback came.” “Something happened.” “Yes, but what?” “Somebody she saw, somebody who spoke to her, somebody who found out where she was.” “I don’t see how that could have happened… But what you don’t seem to see is that she’s a free agent. She had to be a free agent.” “Somebody got at her. Somebody found out where she was. Did she get a letter, a telegram, a telephone call?” “No, nothing of that kind. That I am quite sure of.” “Then how–of course! Newspapers.
You have newspapers, I suppose, in that establishment of yours?” “Certainly. Normal everyday life, that’s what I stand for in my place of business.” “Then that is how they got at her.
Normal, everyday life. What papers do you take?” “Five.” He named the five.
“When did she go?” “This morning. Half past ten.” “Exactly. After she read the papers. That is good enough to start on. Which paper did she usually read?” “I don’t think she had any special choice. Sometimes one, sometimes another, sometimes the whole lot of them — sometimes only glanced at them.” “Well, I must not waste time talking.” “You think she saw an advertisement.
Something of that kind?” “What other explanation can there be?
Good-bye, I can say no more now. I have to search. Search for the possible advertisement and then get on quickly.” He replaced the receiver.
“Miss Lemon, bring me our two papers.
The Morning News and the Daily Comet. Send Georges out for all the others.” As he opened out the papers to the Personal advertisements and went carefully down them, he followed his line of thought.
He would be in time. He must be in time There had been one murder already.
There would be another one to come. But he, Hercule Poirot, would prevent that.
If he was in time… He was Hercule Poirot — the avenger of the innocent. Did he not say (and people laughed when he said it) “I do not approve of murder”. They had thought it an understatement. But it was not an understatement. It was a simple statement of/act without melodrama. He did not approve of murder.
George came in with a sheaf of newspapers.
“There are all this morning’s, sir.” Poirot looked at Miss Lemon, who was standing by waiting to be efficient.
“Look through the ones that I have searched in case I have missed anything.” “The Personal column, you mean?” “Yes. I thought there would be the name David perhaps. A girl’s name. Some pet name or nickname. They would not use Norma. An appeal for help, perhaps, or to a meeting.” Miss Lemon took the papers obediently with some distaste. This was not her kind of efficiency, but for the moment he had no other job to give her. He himself spread out the Morning Chronicle. That was the biggest field to search. Three columns of it.
He bent over the open sheet.
A lady who wanted to dispose of her fur coat… Passengers wanted for a car trip abroad… Lovely period house for sale.
Paying guests… Backward children.
Home-made chocolates… “Julia. Shall never forget. Always yours.” That was more the kind of thing. He considered it, but passed on. Louis XVth furniture.