Burrows did not reply.
Major Riddle said:
“What time was it when you went up to dress for dinner?”
“About five minutes past seven.”
“What did Sir Gervase do?”
“I left him in the study.”
“How long did he usually take to change?”
“He usually gave himself a full three quarters of an hour.”
“Then, if dinner was at a quarter past eight, he would probably have gone up at half past seven at the latest?”
“Very likely.”
“You yourself went to change early?”
“Yes, I thought I would change and then go to the library and look up the references I wanted.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Major Riddle said:
“Well, I think that’s all for the moment. Will you send Miss What’s-her-name along?”
Little Miss Lingard tripped in almost immediately. She was wearing several chains which tinkled a little as she sat down and looked inquiringly from one to the other of the
two men.
“This is all very—er—sad, Miss Lingard,” began Major Riddle.
“Very sad indeed,” said Miss Lingard decorously.
“You came to this house—when?”
“About two months ago. Sir Gervase wrote to a friend of his in the Museum—Colonel Fotheringay it was—and Colonel Fotheringary recommended me. I have done a good deal of historical research work.”
“Did you find Sir Gervase difficult to work for?”
“Oh, not really. One had to humour him a little, of course. But then I always find one has to do that with men.”
With an uneasy feeling that Miss Lingard was probably humouring him at this moment, Major Riddle went on:
“Your work here was to help Sir Gervase with the book he was writing?”
“Yes.”
“What did it involve?”
For a moment, Miss Lingard looked quite human. Her eyes twinkled as she replied:
“Well, actually, you know, it involved writing the book! I looked up all the information and made notes, and arranged the material. And then, later, I revised what Sir Gervase had written.”
“You must have had to exercise a good deal of tact, mademoiselle,” said Poirot.
“Tact and firmness. One needs them both,” said Miss Lingard.