Third Girl by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

tree. The chauffeur opened the door of the car, Poirot got inside, sat down and removed his patent leather shoes, uttering a gasp of relief.
    â€œNow we return to London,” he said.
    The chauffeur closed the door, returned to his seat and the car purred quietly away. The sight of a young man standing by the roadside furiously thumbing a ride was not an unusual one. Poirot’s eyes rested almost indifferently on this member of the fraternity, a brightly dressed young man with long and exotic hair. There were many such but in the moment of passing him Poirot suddenly sat upright and addressed the driver.
    â€œIf you please, stop. Yes, and if you can reverse a little…There is someone requesting a lift.”
    The chauffeur turned an incredulous eye over his shoulder. It was the last remark he would have expected. However, Poirot was gently nodding his head, so he obeyed.
    The young man called David advanced to the door. “Thought you weren’t going to stop for me,” he said cheerfully. “Much obliged, I’m sure.”
    He got in, removed a small pack from his shoulders and let it slide to the floor, smoothed down his copper brown locks. “So you recognised me,” he said.
    â€œYou are perhaps somewhat conspicuously dressed.”
    â€œOh, do you think so? Not really. I’m just one of a band of brothers.”
    â€œThe school of Vandyke. Very dressy.”
    â€œOh. I’ve never thought of it like that. Yes, there may be something in what you say.”
    â€œYou should wear a cavalier’s hat,” said Poirot, “and a lace collar, if I might advise.”
    â€œOh, I don’t think we go quite as far as that.” The young man laughed. “How Mrs. Restarick dislikes the mere sight of me. Actually I reciprocate her dislike. I don’t care much for Restarick, either. There is something singularly unattractive about successful tycoons, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt depends on the point of view. You have been paying attentions to the daughter, I understand.”
    â€œThat is such a nice phrase,” said David. “Paying attentions to the daughter. I suppose it might be called that. But there’s plenty of fifty-fifty about it, you know. She’s paying attention to me, too.”
    â€œWhere is Mademoiselle now?”
    David turned his head rather sharply. “And why do you ask that?”
    â€œI should like to meet her.” He shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œI don’t believe she’d be your type, you know, anymore than I am. Norma’s in London.”
    â€œBut you said to her stepmother—”
    â€œOh! We don’t tell stepmothers everything.”
    â€œAnd where is she in London?”
    â€œShe works in an interior decorator’s down the King’s Road somewhere in Chelsea. Can’t remember the name of it for the moment. Susan Phelps, I think.”
    â€œBut that is not where she lives, I presume. You have her address?”
    â€œOh yes, a great block of flats. I don’t really understand your interest.”
    â€œOne is interested in so many things.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhat brought you to that house—(what is its name?—Crosshedges) today. Brought you secretly into the house and up the stairs.”
    â€œI came in the back door, I admit.”
    â€œWhat were you looking for upstairs?”
    â€œThat’s my business. I don’t want to be rude—but aren’t you being rather nosy?”
    â€œYes, I am displaying curiosity. I would like to know exactly where this young lady is.”
    â€œI see. Dear Andrew and dear Mary—lord rot ’em—are employing you, is that it? They are trying to find her?”
    â€œAs yet,” said Poirot, “I do not think they know that she is missing.”
    â€œSomeone must be employing you.”
    â€œYou are exceedingly perceptive,” said Poirot. He leant back.
    â€œI wondered