“Mrs. Lorrimer? Isn’t that the one—the one who was there?”
Anne nodded.
“Where did you come across her? Did you go and see her?”
“No. I ran across her in Harley Street.”
“What was she like?”
Anne said slowly:
“I don’t know. She was—rather queer. Not at all like the other night.”
“Do you still think she did it?” asked Rhoda.
Anne was silent for a minute or two. Then she said:
“I don’t know. Don’t let’s talk of it, Rhoda! You know how I hate talking of things.”
“All right, darling. What was the solicitor like? Very dry and legal?”
“Rather alert and Jewish.”
“Sounds all right.” She waited a little and then said:
“How was Major Despard?”
“Very kind.”
“He’s fallen for you, Anne. I’m sure he has.”
“Rhoda, don’t talk nonsense.”
“Well, you’ll see.”
Rhoda began humming to herself. She thought:
“Of course he’s fallen for her. Anne’s awfully pretty. But a bit wishy-washy … She’ll never go on treks with him. Why, she’d scream if she saw a snake … Men always do take fancies to unsuitable women.”
Then she said aloud.
“That bus will take us to Paddington. We’ll just catch the 4:48.”
Nineteen
CONSULTATION
The telephone rang in Poirot’s room and a respectful voice spoke.
“Sergeant O’Connor. Superintendent Battle’s compliments and would it be convenient for Mr. Hercule Poirot to come to Scotland Yard at 11:30?”
Poirot replied in the affirmative and Sergeant O’Connor rang off.
It was 11:30 to the minute when Poirot descended from his taxi at the door of New Scotland Yard—to be at once seized upon by Mrs. Oliver.
“M. Poirot. How splendid! Will you come to my rescue?”
“Enchanté, madame. What can I do?”