‘Er–excuse me, sir–but it’s true, isn’t it, that you’re the detective gentleman–you’re Mr Hercules Pwarrit?’ He said the name very carefully.
Poirot said: ‘That is so.’
Red crept up the young man’s face. He said:
‘I read a piece about you in the paper.’
‘Yes?’
The boy was now scarlet. There was distress in his eyes–distress and appeal. Hercule Poirot came to his aid. He said gently:
‘Yes? What is it you want to ask me?’
The words came with a rush now.
‘I’m afraid you may think it’s awful cheek of me, sir. But your coming here by chance like this–well, it’s too good to be missed. Having read about you and the clever things you’ve done. Anyway, I said as after all I might as well ask you. There’s no harm in asking, is there?’
Hercule Poirot shook his head. He said:
‘You want my help in some way?’
The other nodded. He said, his voice husky and embarrassed:
‘It’s–it’s about a young lady. If–if you could find her for me.’
‘Find her? Has she disappeared, then?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
Hercule Poirot sat up in his chair. He said sharply:
‘I could help you, perhaps, yes. But the proper people for you to go to are the police. It is their job and they have far more resources at their disposal than I have.’
The boy shuffled his feet. He said awkwardly:
‘I couldn’t do that, sir. It’s not like that at all. It’s all rather peculiar, so to speak.’
Hercule Poirot stared at him. Then he indicated a chair.
‘Eh bien, then, sit down–what is your name?’
‘Williamson, sir, Ted Williamson.’
‘Sit down, Ted. And tell me all about it.’
‘Thank you sir.’ He drew forward the chair and sat down carefully on the edge of it. His eyes had still that appealing doglike look.
Hercule Poirot said gently:
‘Tell me.’
Ted Williamson drew a deep breath.
‘Well, you see, sir, it was like this. I never saw her but the once. And I don’t know her right name nor anything. But it’s queer like, the whole thing, and my letter coming back and everything.’
‘Start,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘at the beginning. Do not hurry yourself. Just tell me everything that occurred.’
‘Yes, sir. Well, perhaps you know Grasslawn, sir, that big house down by the river past the bridge?’
‘I know nothing at all.’
‘Belongs to Sir George Sanderfield, it does. He uses it in the summer-time for week-ends and parties–rather a gay lot he has down as a rule. Actresses and that. Well, it was last June–and the wireless was out of order and they sent me up to see to it.’
Poirot nodded.
‘So I went along. The gentleman was out on the river with his guests and the cook was out and his manservant had gone along to serve the drinks and all that on the launch. There was only this girl in the house–she was the lady’s-maid to one of the guests. She let me in and showed me where the set was, and stayed there while I was working on it. And so we got to talking and all that…Nita her name was, so she told me, and she was lady’s-maid to a Russian dancer who was staying there.’
‘What nationality was she, English?’
‘No, sir, she’d be French, I think. She’d a funny sort of accent. But she spoke English all right. She–she was friendly and after a bit I asked her if she could come out that night and go to the pictures, but she said her lady would be needing her. But then she said as how she could get off early in the afternoon because as how they wasn’t going to be back off the river till late. So the long and the short of it was that I took the afternoon off without asking(and nearly got the sack for it too) and we went for a walk along by the river.’
He paused. A little smile hovered on his lips. His eyes were dreamy. Poirot said gently:
‘And she was pretty, yes?’
‘She was just the loveliest thing you ever saw. Her hair was like gold–it went up each side like wings–and she had a gay kind of way of tripping along. I –I –well, I fell for her right away, sir. I’m not pretending anything else.’
Poirot nodded. The young man went on:
‘She said as how her lady would be coming down again in a fortnight and we fixed up to meet again then.’ He paused. ‘But she never came. I waited for her at the spot she’d said, but not a sign of her, and at last I made bold to go up to the house and ask for her. The Russianlady was staying there all right and her maid too, they said. Sent for her, they did, but when she came, why, it wasn’t Nita at all! Just a dark catty-looking girl–a bold lot if there ever was one. Marie, they called her. ‘You want to see me?’ she says, simpering all over. She must have seen I was took aback. I said was she the Russian lady’s maid and something about her not being the one I’d seen before, and then she laughed and said that the last maid had been sent away sudden. ‘Sent away?’ I said. ‘What for?’ She sort of shrugged her shoulders and stretched out her hands. ‘How should I know?’ she said. ‘I was not there.’
‘Well, sir, it took me aback. At the moment I couldn’t think of anything to say. But afterwards I plucked up the courage and I got to see this Marie again and asked her to get me Nita’s address. I didn’t let on to her that I didn’t even know Nita’s last name. I promised her a present if she did what I asked–she was the kind as wouldn’t do anything for you for nothing. Well, she got it all right for me–an address in North London, it was, and I wrote to Nita there–but the letter came back after a bit–sent back through the post office with no longer at this address scrawled on it.’
Ted Williamson stopped. His eyes, those deep blue steady eyes, looked across at Poirot. He said:
‘You see how it is, sir? It’s not a case for the police. But I want to find her. And I don’t know how to set about it. If–if you could find her for me.’ His colour deepened. ‘I’ve–I’ve a bit put by. I could manage five pounds–or even ten.’
Poirot said gently:
‘We need not discuss the financial side for the moment. First reflect on this point–this girl, this Nita–she knew your name and where you worked?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘She could have communicated with you if she had wanted to?’
Ted said more slowly:
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then do you not think–perhaps–’
Ted Williamson interrupted him.
‘What you’re meaning, sir, is that I fell for her but she didn’t fall for me? Maybe that’s true in a way…But she liked me–she did like me–it wasn’t just a bit of fun to her…And I’ve been thinking, sir, as there might be a reason for all this. You see, sir, it was a funny crowd she was mixed up in. She might be in a bit of trouble, if you know what I mean.’
‘You mean she might have been going to have a child? Your child?’
‘Not mine, sir.’ Ted flushed. ‘There wasn’t nothing wrong between us.’
Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.