Poirot Pays a Call
I was slightly nervous when I rang the bell at Marby Grange the following afternoon. I wondered very much what Poirot expected to find out. He had entrusted the job to me. Why? Was it because, as in the case of questioning Major Blunt, he wished to remain in the background? The wish, intelligible in the first case, seemed to me quite meaningless here.
My meditations were interrupted by the advent of a smart parlour maid.
Yes, Mrs. Folliott was at home. I was ushered into a big drawing room, and looked round me curiously as I waited for the mistress of the house. A large bare room, some good bits of old china, and some beautiful etchings, shabby covers and curtains. A lady’s room in every sense of the term.
I turned from the inspection of a Bartolozzi on the wall as Mrs. Folliott came into the room. She was a tall woman, with untidy brown hair, and a very winning smile.
“ Dr. Sheppard,” she said hesitatingly.
“That is my name,” I replied. “I must apologize for calling upon you like this, but I wanted some information about a parlour maid previously employed by you, Ursula Bourne.”
With the utterance of the name the smile vanished from her face, and all the cordiality froze out of her manner. She looked uncomfortable and ill at ease.
“Ursula Bourne?” she said hesitatingly.