‘My aunt told me about that,’ said Sheila, ‘but I didn’t know it was anything special. Was it? Was Edna in trouble of any kind?’

‘We don’t know,’ said the inspector. ‘We probably never shall know. Unlessyou can tell us?’

‘Itell you? How should I know?’

‘You might have had some idea, perhaps, of what Edna Brent wanted to see you about?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea, no idea at all.’

‘Hasn’t she hinted anything to you, spoken to you in the office at all about whatever the trouble was?’

‘No. No, indeed she hasn’t-hadn’t-I wasn’t at the office at all yesterday. I had to go over to Landis Bay to one of our authors for the whole day.’

‘You didn’t think that she’d been worried lately?’

‘Well, Edna always looked worried or puzzled. She had a very-what shall I say-diffident, uncertain kind of mind. I mean, she was never quite sure that what she thought of doing was the right thing or not. She missed out two whole pages in typing Armand Levine’s book once and she was terribly worried about what to do then, because she’d sent it off to him before she realized what had happened.’

‘I see. And she asked you all your advice as to what she should do about it?’

‘Yes. I told her she’d better write a note to him quickly because people don’t always start reading their typescript at once for correction. She could write and say what had happened and ask him not to complain to Miss Martindale. But she said she didn’t quite like to do that.’

‘She usually came and asked for advice when one of these problems arose?’

‘Oh, yes, always. But the trouble was, of course, that we didn’t always all agree as to what she should do. Then she got puzzled again.’

‘So it would be quite natural that she should come to one of you if shehad a problem? It happened quite frequently?’

‘Yes. Yes, it did.’

‘You don’t think it might have been something more serious this time?’

‘I don’t suppose so. What sort of serious thing could it be?’

Was Sheila Webb, the inspector wondered, quite as much at ease as she tried to appear?’

‘I don’t know what she wanted to talk to me about,’ she went on, speaking faster and rather breathlessly. ‘I’ve no idea. And I certainly can’t imagine why she wanted to come out to my aunt’s house and speak to methere.’

‘It would seem, wouldn’t it, that it was something she did not want to speak to you about at the Cavendish Bureau? Before the other girls, shall we say? Something, perhaps, that she felt ought to be kept private between you and her. Could that have been the case?’

‘I think it’s very unlikely. I’m sure it couldn’t have been at all like that.’ Her breath came quickly.

‘So you can’t help me, Miss Webb?’

‘No. I’m sorry. I’mvery sorry about Edna, but I don’t know anything that could help you.’

‘Nothing that might have a connection or a tie-up with what happened on the 9th of September?’

‘You mean-that man-that man in Wilbraham Crescent?’

‘That’s what I mean.’

‘How could it have been? Whatcould Edna have known about that?’

‘Nothing very important, perhaps,’ said the inspector, ‘butsomething. And anything would help.Anything, however small.’ He paused. ‘The telephone box where she was killed was in Wilbraham Crescent. Does that convey anything to you, Miss Webb?’

‘Nothing at all.’ 

‘Were you yourself in Wilbraham Crescent today?’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ she said vehemently. ‘I never went near it. I’m beginning to feel that it’s a horrible place. I wish I’d never gone there in the first place, I wish I’d never got mixed up in all this. Why did they send for me, ask for me specially, that day? Why did Edna have to get killed near there? Youmust find out, Inspector, you must, youmust!’

‘We mean to find out, Miss Webb,’ the inspector said. There was a faint menace in his voice as he went on: ‘I can assure you of that.’

‘You’re trembling, my dear,’ said Professor Purdy. ‘I think, I reallydo think that you ought to have a glass of sherry.’

Colin Lamb’s Narrative

I reported to Beck as soon as I got to London.

He waved his cigar at me.

‘There might have been something in that idiotic crescent idea of yours after all,’ he allowed.

‘I’ve turned up something at last, have I?’

‘I won’t go as far as that, but I’ll just say that youmay have. Our construction engineer, Mr Ramsay of 62, Wilbraham Crescent, is not all he seems. Some very curious assignments he’s taken on lately. Genuine firms, but firms without much back history, and what history they have, rather a peculiar one. Ramsay went off at a minute’s notice about five weeks ago. He went to Rumania.’

‘That’s not what he told his wife.’

‘Possibly not, but that’s where he went. And that’s where he is now. We’d like to know a bit more about him. So you can stir your stumps, my lad, and get going. I’ve got all the visas ready for you, and a nice new passport. Nigel Trench it will be this time. Rub up your knowledge of rare plants in the Balkans. You’re a botanist.’

‘Any special instructions?’

‘No. We’ll give you your contact when you pick up your papers. Find out all you can about our Mr Ramsay.’ He looked at me keenly. ‘You don’t sound as pleased as you might be.’ He peered through the cigar smoke.

‘It’s always pleasant when a hunch pays off,’ I said evasively.

‘Right Crescent, wrong number. 61 is occupied by a perfectly blameless builder. Blameless in our sense, that is. Poor old Hanbury got the number wrong, but he wasn’t far off.’

‘Have you vetted the others? Or only Ramsay?’

‘Diana Lodge seems to be as pure as Diana. A long history of cats. McNaughton was vaguely interesting. He’s a retired professor, as you know. Mathematics. Quite brilliant, it seems. Resigned his Chair quite suddenly on the grounds of ill-health. I suppose thatmay be true-but he seems quite hale and hearty. He seems to have cut himself off from all his old friends, which is rather odd.’

‘The trouble is,’ I said, ‘that we get to thinking that everything thateverybody does is highly suspicious.’ 

‘You may have got something there,’ said Colonel Beck. ‘There are times when I suspectyou, Colin, of having changed over to the other side. There are times when I suspectmyself of having changed over to the other side, and then having changed back again to this one! All a jolly mix-up.’

My plane left at ten p.m. I went to see Hercule Poirot first. This time he was drinking asirop de cassis (Black-currant to you and me). He offered me some. I refused. George brought me whisky. Everything as usual.

‘You look depressed,’ said Poirot.

‘Not at all. I’m just off abroad.’

He looked at me. I nodded.

‘So it is like that?’

‘Yes, it is like that.’

‘I wish you all success.’

‘Thank you. And what about you, Poirot, how are you getting along with your homework?’

‘Pardon?’

‘What about the Crowdean Clocks Murder-Have you leaned back, closed your eyes and come up with all the answers?’

‘I have read what you left here with great interest,’ said Poirot.

‘Not much there, was there? I told you these particular neighbours were a wash-out-’

‘On the contrary. In the case of at leasttwo of these people very illuminating remarks were made-’

‘Which of them? And what were the remarks?’

Poirot told me in an irritating fashion that I must read my notes carefully.

‘You will see for yourself then-It leaps to the eye. The thing to do now is to talk to more neighbours.’

‘There aren’t any more.’

‘There must be.Somebody has always seen something. It is an axiom.’

‘It may be an axiom but it isn’t so in this case. And I’ve got further details for you. There has been another murder.’

‘Indeed? So soon? That is interesting. Tell me.’