The Labours of Hercules

‘Why did she leave London?’

‘My dear fellow, I don’t know. Row with the management, I believe. She was temperamental, you know–very Russian in her moods. I’m sorry that I can’t help you but I haven’t the least idea where she is now. I haven’t kept up with her at all.’

There was a note of dismissal in his voice as he rose to his feet.

Poirot said:

‘But is not Mademoiselle Samoushenka that I am anxious to trace.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No, it is a question of her maid.’

‘Her maid?’ Sanderfield stared at him.

Poirot said:

‘Do you–perhaps–remember her maid?’

All Sanderfield’s uneasiness had returned. He said awkwardly:

‘Good Lord, no, how should I? I remember she had one, of course…Bit of a bad lot, too, I should say. Sneaking, prying sort of girl. If I were you I shouldn’t put any faith in a word that girl says. She’s the kind of girl who’s a born liar.’

Poirot murmured:

‘So actually, you remember quite a lot about her?’

Sanderfield said hastily:

‘Just an impression, that’s all…Don’t even remember her name. Let me see, Marie something or other–no, I’m afraid I can’t help you to get hold of her. Sorry.’

Poirot said gently:

‘I have already got the name of Marie Hellin from the Thespian Theatre–and her address. But I am speaking, Sir George, of the maid who was with Mademoiselle Samoushenka before Marie Hellin. I am speaking of Nita Valetta.’

Sanderfield stared. He said:

‘Don’t remember her at all. Marie’s the only one I remember. Little dark girl with a nasty look in her eye.’

Poirot said:

‘The girl I mean was at your house Grasslawn last June.’

Sanderfield said sulkily:

‘Well, all I can say is I don’t remember her. Don’t believe she had a maid with her. I think you’re making a mistake.’

Hercule Poirot shook his head. He did not think he was making a mistake.

V

Marie Hellin looked swiftly at Poirot out of small intelligent eyes and as swiftly looked away again. She said in smooth, even tones: