Chapter 15 Chapter fifteen

"Someone is calling for you," Maureen called from the kitchen when Poirot entered. "Call me? Who?" He was slightly surprised. "I don't know, but I jotted down the phone number in a hurry." "Thank you, ma'am." He walked into the dining room and walked around the tables.Among a pile of papers, he found a book with a phone number written on it. The number and the place name were—Kilchester 350. He got the handset and dialed the number. Immediately a woman's voice was heard: "Blaser & Skatel." Poirot made a quick guess.

"Can I speak to Miss Maud Williams?" There was a brief pause, and then came a contralto: "I'm Miss Williams." "I am Hercule Poirot. I think you have called me." "Yes—yes, I called. About the property you wanted me to know that day." "Property?" Poirot was puzzled for a moment.Then he realized that Maude was calling someone nearby and could hear him.She had called him before, it must have been when she was alone in the office. "I can understand. I think it's about the murders of James Bentley and Mrs. McGinty." "But is there anything we can do for you in this matter?"

"You want to help. You're not alone now, are you?" "right." "I see. Listen carefully. Do you really want to help James Bentley?" "yes." "Would you like to quit your current job?" The other party didn't hesitate at all. "yes." "Would you like to do chores? Likely with someone you don't quite get along with, okay?" "no problem." "Can you get out of here right now? Like, how about tomorrow?" "Oh, yes, M. Poirot. I think I can." "You know what I want from you. You're going to live in a house—help with the housework. Can you cook?"

A slightly cheerful tone makes for a very pleasant voice: "Excellent workmanship." "What a rare occasion! Now listen, I'm leaving at once for Kilchester, and I'll meet you at lunchtime in the same little restaurant where I saw you before." "Okay, see you soon." Poirot put down the phone. "What an admirable young woman," he thought, "witty, quick, knows where she's going—perhaps, better yet, she can cook..." With some difficulty he found the Wetherbys' number in the local phone book under a hog brochure. It was Mrs Wetherby who answered the phone.

"Hello? Hello? I'm M. Poirot—do you remember me, Madame?" "I don't remember—" "Mr. Hercule Poirot." "Oh, yes—of course I remember—excuse me. What a mess in the house today." "It is for this reason that I have called you. I have heard of your difficulties." "So ungrateful—these foreign girls. Commissions have been given to her, all issues settled. I really hate ungrateful people." "Yes, yes. I do feel sorry for you. It's abominable—and that's why I'm in such a hurry to tell you that perhaps I have a solution. As it happens, I know a young woman who Looking for a job as a housekeeper. I'm afraid she has no systematic training."

"Oh, there's no such training these days. Would she like to cook—a lot of servants don't want to cook now." "Yes, yes—she will cook. I'll send her to your house just for a trial, then, shall I? Her name is Maud Williams." "Oh, send her here, please, M. Poirot. You are very kind. Help is better than no one. My husband is so fussy, and when the house is out of order, he is always quick to say something to dear Dee." Derry loses her temper. It's hard to expect a man these days to understand how hard housekeeping is—I—" Speech broke off.Mrs. Weatherby was talking to someone who had entered the room.Although her hand was over the receiver, Poirot could still hear what she was saying in a low voice.

"It was the little detective - he introduced someone to take Frieda's place. No, not a foreigner - an Englishman. God, he's such a nice guy, he seems to care about me. Oh dear Yes, don't object. What does it matter? Well, I think it's all right—I don't think she's too bad." After talking to those around her, Mrs. Wetherby expressed her utmost gratitude. "Thank you very much, M. Poirot. We are very grateful." Poirot put down the phone and looked at his watch. He goes to the kitchen. "Ma'am, I'm not here to lunch. I'm going to Gilchester."

"Jesus," said Maureen, "I didn't see the pudding in time. It boiled dry. I think it's still edible—maybe it's just mushy. In case it tastes bad, I think I can open a bottle of the one I made last year. Strawberry jam made in the summer. The top layer seems to be moldy, but they say it’s okay. It’s really good for you—take an aspirin.” Poirot left the house, glad that the burnt pudding and the almost aspirin smell were not his share today.Much better to have macaroni and custard and prunes at Blue Cat than Maureen Summerhays' whimsical pudding. There was a small skirmish at Rabnames.

"Of course, Robin, you never seem to remember anything when you start writing." Robin regretted it. "Mom, I'm so, so sorry. I forgot all about taking Janet out tonight." "It doesn't matter at all," said Mrs. Upward dryly. "Of course it does. I'll call the theater right away and tell them we'll go to the show tomorrow night instead." "You wouldn't do such a thing. You've arranged to go tonight, and you'll go." "But it's really—" "That's it." "May I ask Janet to go out another night?"

"Of course not. She hates her plans being changed." "I'm sure she wouldn't really mind. If I made it clear to her, she wouldn't—" "You wouldn't do that, Robin, and please don't upset Janet. Don't bring it up again. I don't mind feeling like a nasty old woman trying to put people off." "Mother—dearest—" "That's enough--you go out and have fun. I know who I'm supposed to get to keep me company." "Who?" "It's my secret," said Mrs. Upward, feeling better again. "Now, don't make a fuss about it, Robin."

"I'm calling Sheila Rendell right now—" "I'm going to call myself, thank you. That's it, problem solved. Before you go, get your coffee ready, put it in the brewer, and bring it to me, and I'll turn the switch anytime .Oh, you'd better get out an extra glass—in case I have a visitor."