V
Japp grumbled¹ as they were waiting for the manageress.
“What does the woman want to disappear for?”
“It is curious, you admit?”
They had no time for more.
Mrs. Harrison, proprietor² of the Glengowrie Court, was with them.
Mrs. Harrison was voluble and almost tearful. She was so worried about Miss Sainsbury Seale.
What could have happened to her? Rapidly she went over every possibility of disaster. Loss of
memory, sudden illness, haemorrhage, run down by an omnibus, robbery and assault—
She paused at last for breath, murmuring:
“Such a nice type of woman—and she seemed so happy and comfortable here.”
She took them, at Japp’s request, up to the chaste³ bedroom occupied by the missing lady.
Everything was neat and orderly. Clothes hung in the wardrobe, nightclothes were folded ready on
the bed, in a corner were Miss Sainsbury Seale’s two modest suitcases. A row of shoes stood
under the dressing⁴ table—some serviceable Oxfords, two pairs of rather meretricious⁵ glacé fancy
shoes with court heels and ornament⁶ with bows of leather, some plain black satin evening shoes,
practically new, and a pair of moccasins. Poirot noted⁷ that the evening shoes were a size smaller
than the day ones—a fact that might be put down to corns or to vanity. He wondered whether Miss
Sainsbury Seale had found time to sew the second buckle⁸ on her shoe before she went out. He
hoped so. Slovenliness⁹ in dress always annoyed him.
Japp was busy looking through some letters in a drawer of the dressing table. Hercule Poirot

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