IV
On his way home, Poirot called in at the Glengowrie Court Hotel.
As a result of that visit he rang Japp up very early the following morning.
“Bonjour, mon ami. The inquest is today, is it not?”
“It is. Are you going to attend?”
“I do not think so.”
“It won’t really be worth your while, I expect.”
“Are you calling Miss Sainsbury Seale as a witness?”
“The lovely Mabelle—why can’t she just spell it plain Mabel. These women get my goat! No,
I’m not calling her. There’s no need.”
“You have heard nothing from her?”
“No, why should I?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“I wondered, that was all. Perhaps it may interest you to learn that Miss Sainsbury Seale walked
out of the Glengowrie Court Hotel just before dinner the night before last—and did not come
back.”
“What? She’s hooked it?”
“That is a possible explanation.”
“But why should she? She’s quite all right, you know. Perfectly¹ genuine and aboveboard. I
cabled Calcutta about her—that was before I knew the reason for Amberiotis’ death, otherwise I
shouldn’t have bothered—and I got the reply last night. Everything O.K. She’s been known there
for years, and her whole account of herself is true—except that she’s slurred² over her marriage a
bit. Married a Hindu student and then found he’d got a few attachments³ already. So she resumed
her maiden⁴ name and took to good works. She’s hand and glove with the missionaries—teaches
elocution, and helps in amateur dramatic shows. In fact, what I call a terrible woman — but
definitely above suspicion of being mixed up in a murder. And now you say she’s walked out on
us! I can’t understand it.” He paused a minute and then went on doubtfully: “Perhaps she just got
fed up with that hotel? I could have easily.”
Poirot said:
“Her luggage is still there. She took nothing with her.”
Japp swore.
“When did she go?”
“About a quarter to seven.”
“What about the hotel people?”

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