The Clocks - Agatha Christie [61]
“Give us time, Miss Martindale,” he said.
“Time? Just because that silly child is dead, I suppose you think you’ve all the time in the world. The next thing that happens will be one of the other girls is murdered.”
“I don’t think you need fear that, Miss Martindale.”
“I don’t suppose you thought this girl was going to be killed when you got up this morning, Inspector. If so, you’d have taken a few precautions, I suppose, to look after her. And when one of my girls gets killed or is put in some terribly compromising position, you’ll be equally surprised. The whole thing is extraordinary, crazy! You must admit yourself it’s a crazy setup. That is, if the things one reads in the paper were true. All those clocks for instance. They weren’t mentioned this morning at the inquest, I noticed.”
“As little as possible was mentioned this morning, Miss Martindale. It was only an adjourned inquest, you know.”
“All I say is,” said Miss Martindale, glaring at him again, “you must do something about it.”
“And there’s nothing you can tell me, no hint Edna might have given to you? She didn’t appear worried by anything, she didn’t consult you?”
“I don’t suppose she’d have consulted me if she was worried,” said Miss Martindale. “But what had she to be worried about?”
That was exactly the question that Inspector Hardcastle would have liked to have answered for him, but he could see that it was not likely that he would get the answer from Miss Martindale. Instead he said:
“I’d like to talk to as many of your girls here as I can. I can see that it is not likely that Edna Brent would have confided any fears or worries to you, but she might have spoken of them to her fellow employees.”
“That’s possible enough, I expect,” said Miss Martindale. “They spend their time gossiping—these girls. The moment they hear my step in the passage outside all the typewriters begin to rattle. But what have they been doing just before? Talking. Chat, chat, chitter-chat!” Calming down a little, she said, “There are only three of them in the office at present. Would you like to speak to them while you’re here? The others are out on assignments. I can give you their names and their home addresses, if you like.”
“Thank you, Miss Martindale.”
“I expect you’d like to speak to them alone,” said Miss Martindale. “They wouldn’t talk as freely if I was standing there looking on. They’d have to admit, you see, that they had been gossiping and wasting their time.”
She got up from her seat and opened the door into the outer office.
“Girls,” she said, “Detective Inspector Hardcastle wants to talk things over with you. You can stop work for the moment. Try and tell him anything you know that can help him to find out who killed Edna Brent.”
She went back into her own private office and shut the door firmly. Three startled girlish faces looked at the inspector. He summed them up quickly and superficially, but sufficiently to make up his mind as to the quality of the material with which he was about to deal. A fair solid-looking girl with spectacles. Dependable, he thought, but not particularly bright. A rather rakish-looking brunette with the kind of hairdo that suggested she’d been out in a blizzard lately. Eyes that noticed things here, perhaps, but probably highly unreliable in her recollection of events. Everything would be suitably touched up. The third was a born giggler who would, he was sure, agree with whatever anyone else said.
He spoke quietly, informally.
“I suppose you’ve all heard what has happened to Edna Brent who worked here?”
Three heads nodded violently.
“By the way, how did you hear?”
They looked at each other as if trying to decide who should be spokesman. By common consent it appeared to be the fair girl, whose name, it seemed, was Janet.
“Edna didn’t come to work at two o’clock, as she should have done,” she explained.