The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [18]
“I knew she was dining out. I stayed in Whynmouth.”
“Very patient of you, sir. You remained in the hotel?”
“I had a stroll by the sea after dinner. I went to bed early.”
“Perhaps there would be someone who would be able to confirm what you say about your movements, sir?”
The Inspector’s voice was casual—too casual. Holland’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you suspecting me of killing the Admiral?” he asked harshly.
“Oh, dear, no; oh, dear, no. Why, I didn’t even know of your existence till an hour or so ago. Funny, isn’t it? No; that’s just routine. We like to know—and if possible to confirm—the whereabouts of everyone in any way connected with the deceased at the time of the crime. I just thought it possible you might know of someone who could confirm your statement.”
“How can anyone prove whether I was in bed or not? I happen to make a practice of sleeping alone. Funny, isn’t it?” quoted Holland with a sneer.
“Ah, then you know the crime was committed after you went to bed?”
Holland stared.
“How the devil should I? I’ve only just heard of it.”
“Quite, sir; quite. Like me only just hearing of you. Now about Miss Fitzgerald. Have you any idea where she’s gone?”
“Not the slightest.”
“But when you were dashing off to find her just now, you must have had some idea of where to look.”
“She might have gone to London.”
“And you might be able to find her in London?”
“I might.”
“Then perhaps it would be as well if you did, and asked her to return here without delay.”
Holland nodded.
“I’ll tell her, but she’s likely to please herself about that.”
“It’ll be wise if she pleases herself by coming back, sir. You’ll keep in touch with us, in any case, won’t you, sir?”
Holland halted, with his hand on the door.
“Does that mean that I’m to be under observation or whatever you call it?”
“I shan’t put a man on to watch you, sir, but I’d like you to keep in touch.”
With a grunt Miss Fitzgerald’s “young man” swung open the door and strode out of the room. There was a smile on Inspector Rudge’s face as he pressed the bell.
“I’d like to see Miss Fitzgerald’s maid—Merton, I think you said her name was—please, Emery.”
A minute later Merton was sitting on the edge of a chair, nervously eyeing the formidable Police Inspector. She was a fresh-looking English girl of about twenty-six, attractive without being actually pretty, and evidently intelligent. Inspector Rudge decided at once to put her at her ease—one of his favourite alternatives of examination.
“‘Merton’ they call you?” he said with a friendly smile. “Sounds a bit formal to me. I expect you’ve got another name, eh?”
“Jennie’s my Christian name, sir.”
“Ah, that’s better. Well, Jennie, this is a sad affair and I don’t want to upset you more than I can help, but I must just ask you a few questions about your employers. You see, I don’t know anything of them; not been here long, have they?”
“No, sir; only about a month.”
“Were you with them before they came here?”
“Oh, no; I come from Whynmouth myself. I’ve only been here three weeks.”
“Ah, so Miss Fitzgerald didn’t bring a maid with her when she came?”
“Oh, yes, she did—a French one—Mademoiselle Blanc she called herself, but Miss Fitzgerald called her Célie. She didn’t stay long—told the other girls the place was like a mortuary—‘dead-house’ she called it—I don’t know whether she meant Rundel Croft or Whynmouth, but I suppose she thought it was dull. Anyway she packed up and went off without waiting for her month, nor yet her wages, so the girls say. Miss Fitzgerald had to go to Marlow’s Agency for another maid in a hurry and as they hadn’t got one but they knew I’d been in a maid’s situation but I’m living with mother now—she’s not well—they asked me, and I consented to oblige.”
The last sentence, though rather involved, had the merit of explaining the situation. Inspector Rudge nodded.
“I see; so you don’t really know Miss Fitzgerald very well.”
“Not so very, but I’m not blind.”
“I’m sure not. What did you see?”
“Just that they didn’t look much like an uncle and niece to me.”
“Oh,