“Am I right in believing that you have been until last Friday house and parlourmaid to Mrs. Vane, of Crewe Lodge, St. John’s Wood Road?”
“Yes, I was there for about three months.”
French, to assist not only his own memory but the impressiveness of the interview, noted the reply in his book.
“Three months,” he repeated deliberately. “Very good. Now, why did you leave?”
“Because I had to,” the girl said sulkily. “Mrs. Vane was closing the house.”
French nodded.
“So I understood. Tell me what happened, please; just in your own words.”
“She came in that afternoon shortly before four, all fussed like and hurrying, and said she was leaving immediately for New York. She said she had just had a cable that Mr. Vane had had an accident there, and they were afraid he wouldn’t get over it. She said for cook to get her some tea while I helped her pack. She just threw her clothes in her suitcases. My word, if I had done packing like that I shouldn’t half have copped it! By the time she’d finished, cook had tea ready, and while mistress was having it, cook and I packed. I started to clear away the tea things, but mistress said there wasn’t time for that, for me just to leave them and run out and get two taxis. She said there was a special for the American boat that she must catch. So I got the taxis, and she got into one and cook and I into the other, and we drove away together, and that’s all I know about it.”
“What time was that?”
“About half-past four, I should think. I didn’t look.”