The Clocks - Agatha Christie [12]
Whilst I was using my eyes, Hardcastle was proceeding with his questions.
“I believe you employ a girl called Sheila Webb?”
“That is correct. I am afraid she is not here at present—at least—”
She touched a buzzer and spoke to the outer office.
“Edna, has Sheila Webb come back?”
“No, Miss Martindale, not yet.”
Miss Martindale switched off.
“She went out on an assignment earlier this afternoon,” she explained. “I thought she might have been back by now. It is possible she has gone on to the Curlew Hotel at the end of the Esplanade where she had an appointment at five o’clock.”
“I see,” said Hardcastle. “Can you tell me something about Miss Sheila Webb?”
“I can’t tell you very much,” said Miss Martindale. “She has been here for—let me see, yes, I should say close on a year now. Her work has proved quite satisfactory.”
“Do you know where she worked before she came to you?”
“I dare say I could find out for you if you specially want the information, Inspector Hardcastle. Her references will be filed somewhere. As far as I can remember offhand, she was formerly employed in London and had quite a good reference from her employers there. I think, but I am not sure, that it was some business firm—estate agents possibly, that she worked for.”
“You say she is good at her job?”
“Fully adequate,” said Miss Martindale, who was clearly not one to be lavish with praise.
“Not first class?”
“No, I should not say that. She has good average speed and is tolerably well-educated. She is a careful and accurate typist.”
“Do you know her personally, apart from your official relations?”
“No. She lives, I believe, with an aunt.” Here Miss Martindale got slightly restive. “May I ask, Inspector Hardcastle, why you are asking all these questions? Has the girl got herself into trouble in any way?”
“I would not quite say that, Miss Martindale. Do you know a Miss Millicent Pebmarsh?”
“Pebmarsh,” said Miss Martindale, wrinkling her sandy brows. “Now when—oh, of course. It was to Miss Pebmarsh’s house that Sheila went this afternoon. The appointment was for three o’clock.”
“How was that appointment made, Miss Martindale?”
“By telephone. Miss Pebmarsh rang up and said she wanted the services of a shorthand typist and would I send her Miss Webb.”
“She asked for Sheila Webb particularly?”
“Yes.”
“What time was this call put through?”
Miss Martindale reflected for a moment.
“It came through to me direct. That would mean that it was in the lunch hour. As near as possible I would say that it was about ten minutes to two. Before two o’clock at all events. Ah yes, I see I made a note on my pad. It was 1:49 precisely.”
“It was Miss Pebmarsh herself who spoke to you?” Miss Martindale looked a little surprised.
“I presume so.”
“But you didn’t recognize her voice? You don’t know her personally?”
“No. I don’t know her. She said that she was Miss Millicent Pebmarsh, gave me her address, a number in Wilbraham Crescent. Then, as I say, she asked for Sheila Webb, if she was free, to come to her at three o’clock.”
It was a clear, definite statement. I thought that Miss Martindale would make an excellent witness.
“If you would kindly tell me what all this is about?” said Miss Martindale with slight impatience.
“Well, you see, Miss Martindale, Miss Pebmarsh herself denies making any such call.”
Miss Martindale stared.
“Indeed! How extraordinary.”
“You, on the other hand, say such a call was made, but you cannot say definitely that it was Miss Pebmarsh who made that call.”
“No, of course I can’t say definitely. I don’t know the woman. But really, I can’t see the point of doing such a thing. Was it a hoax of some kind?”
“Rather more than that,” said Hardcastle. “Did this Miss Pebmarsh—or whoever it was—give any reason for wanting Miss Sheila Webb particularly?”
Miss Martindale reflected a moment.
“I think she said that Sheila Webb had done work for her before.”
“And is that in fact so?”
“Sheila said she had no recollection of having done anything for Miss Pebmarsh. But that is not quite conclusive, Inspector. After all, the girls