“I am at your disposal, my friend.”
They set off on foot, entering the grounds by the back drive. Halfway up it they met a tall, good-looking young fellow wheeling a barrow. He touched his cap respectfully to Dr. Lord.
“Good morning, Horlick. This is Horlick, the gardener, Poirot. He was working here that morning.”
Horlick said:
“Yes, sir, I was. I saw Miss Elinor that morning and talked to her.”
Poirot asked:
“What did she say to you?”
“She told me the house was as good as sold, and that rather took me aback, sir; but Miss Elinor said as how she’d speak for me to Major Somervell, and that maybe he’d keep me on—if he didn’t think me too young, perhaps, as head—seeing as how I’d had good training under Mr. Stephens, here.”
Dr. Lord said:
“Did she seem much the same as usual, Horlick?”
“Why, yes, sir, except that she looked a bit excited like—and as though she had something on her mind.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Did you know Mary Gerrard?”
“Oh, yes, sir. But not very well.”
Poirot said:
“What was she like?”
Horlick looked puzzled.
“Like sir? Do you mean to look at?”
“Not exactly. I mean, what kind of a girl was she?”
“Oh, well, sir, she was a very superior sort of a girl. Nice spoken and all that. Thought a lot of herself, I should say. You see, old Mrs. Welman had made a lot of fuss over her. Made her father wild, that did. He was like a bear with a sore head about it.”
Poirot said:
“By all that I’ve heard, he had not the best of tempers, that old one?”
“No, indeed, he hadn’t. Always grumbling, and crusty as they make them. Seldom had a civil word for you.”
Poirot said:
“You were here on that morning. Whereabouts were you working?”
“Mostly in the kitchen garden, sir.”
“You cannot see the house from there?”
&nb
sp; “No, sir.”
Peter Lord said: