Eight

IHercule Poirot was dictating to his secretary, Miss Lemon.

“And while I much appreciate the honour you have done me, I must regret-fully inform you that…”

The telephone rang. Miss Lemon stretched out a hand for it. “Yes? Whodid you say?” She put her hand over the receiver and said to Poirot, “Mrs.

Oliver.”

“Ah…Mrs. Oliver,” said Poirot. He did not particularly want to be inter-rupted at this moment, but he took the receiver from Miss Lemon. “’Allo,”

he said, “Hercule Poirot speaks.”

“Oh, M. Poirot, I’m so glad I got you! I’ve found her for you!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve found her for you. Your girl! You know, the one who’s committed amurder or thinks she has. She’s talking about it too, a great deal. I thinkshe is off her head. But never mind that now. Do you want to come and gether?”

“Where are you, chère Madame?”

“Somewhere between St. Paul’s and the Mermaid Theatre and all that.

Calthorpe Street,” said Mrs. Oliver, suddenly looking out of the telephonebox in which she was standing. “Do you think you can get here quickly?

They’re in a restaurant.”

“They?”

“Oh, she and what I suppose is the unsuitable boyfriend. He is rathernice really, and he seems very fond of her. I can’t think why. People areodd. Well, I don’t want to talk because I want to get back again. I followedthem, you see. I came into the restaurant and saw them there.”

“Aha? You have been very clever, Madame.”

“No, I haven’t really. It was a pure accident. I mean, I walked into asmall café place and there the girl was, just sitting there.”

“Ah. You had the good fortune then. That is just as important.”

“And I’ve been sitting at the next table to them, only she’s got her backto me. And anyway I don’t suppose she’d recognise me. I’ve done things tomy hair. Anway, they’ve been talking as though they were alone in theworld, and when they ordered another course—baked beans—(I can’tbear baked beans, it always seems to me so funny that people should)—”

“Never mind the baked beans. Go on. You left them and came out to tele-phone. Is that right?”

“Yes. Because the baked beans gave me time. And I shall go back now.

Or I might hang about outside. Anway, try and get here quickly.”

“What is the name of this café?”

“The Merry Shamrock—but it doesn’t look very merry. In fact, it looksrather sordid, but the coffee is quite good.”

“Say no more. Go back. In due course, I will arrive.”

“Splendid,” said Mrs. Oliver, and rang off.