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. He murmured:
‘And if what you suggest is true–you still want to find her?’
The colour surged up in Ted Williamson’s face. He said:
‘Yes, I do, and that’s flat! I want to marry her if she’ll have me. And that’s no matter what kind of a jam she’s in! If you’ll only try and find her for me, sir?’
Hercule Poirot smiled. He said, murmuring to himself:
‘“Hair like wings of gold.” Yes, I think this is the third Labour of Hercules…If I remember rightly, that happened in Arcady…’
II
Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully at the sheet of paper on which Ted Williamson had laboriously inscribed a name and address.
Miss Valetta, 17 Upper Renfrew Lane, N15.
He wondered if he would learn anything at that address. Somehow he fancied not. But it was the only help Ted could give him.
No. 17 Upper Renfrew Lane was a dingy but respectable street. A stout woman with bleary eyes opened the door to Poirot’s knock.
‘Miss Valetta?’
‘Gone away a long time ago, she has.’
Poirot advanced a step into the doorway just as the door was about to close.
‘You can give me, perhaps, her address?’
‘Couldn’t say, I’m sure. She didn’t leave one.’
‘When did she go away?’
‘Last summer it was.’
‘Can you tell me exactly when?’
A gentle clicking noise came from Poirot’s right hand where two half-crowns jostled each other in friendly fashion.
The bleary-eyed woman softened in an almost magical manner. She became graciousness itself.
‘Well, I’m sure I’d like to help you, sir. Let me see now. August, no, before that–July–yes, July it must have been. About the first week in July. Went off in a hurry, she did. Back to Italy, I believe.’
‘She was an Italian, then?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘And she was at one time lady’s maid to a Russian dancer, was she not?’
‘That’s right. Madame Semoulina or some such name. Danced at the Thespian in this Bally everyone’s so wild about. One of the stars, she was.’
Poirot said:
‘Do you know why Miss Valetta left her post?’
The woman hesitated a moment before saying:
‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure.’
‘She was dismissed, was she not?’
‘Well–I believe there was a bit of a dust up! But mind you, Miss Valetta didn’t let on much about it. She wasn’t one to give things away. But she looked wild about it. Wicked temper she had–real Eyetalian–her black eyes all snapping and looking as if she’d like to put a knife into you. I wouldn’t have crossed her when she was in one of her moods!’
‘And you are quite sure you do not know Miss Valetta’s present address?’
The half-crowns clinked again encouragingly.
The answer
