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Chapter 20
Hercule Poirot looked up at the faзade of the dignified Georgian house in what had been until recently a quiet street in an old-fashioned market town. Progress was rapidly overtaking it, but the new supermarket, the Gifte Shoppe, Margery's Boutique, Peg's Cafй, and a palatial new bank, had all chosen sites in Croft Road and not encroached on the narrow High Street.
The brass knocker on the door was brightly polished, Poirot noted with approval. He pressed the bell at the side.
It was opened almost at once by a tall distinguished-looking woman with upswept grey hair and an energetic manner.
"M. Poirot? You are very punctual. Come in."
"Miss Battersby?"
"Certainly." She held back the door.
Poirot entered. She deposited his hat on the hall stand and led the way to a pleasant room overlooking a narrow walled garden. She waved towards a chair and sat down herself in an attitude of expectation. It was clear that Miss Battersby was not one to lose time in conventional utterances.
"You are, I think, the former Principal of Meadowfield School?"
"Yes. I retired a year ago. I understand you wished to see me on the subject of Norma Restarick, a former pupil."
"That is right."
"In your letter," said Miss Battersby, "you gave me no further details." She added, "I may say that I know who you are, M. Poirot. I should therefore like a little more information before I proceed further. Are you, for instance, thinking of employing Norma Restarick?"
"That is not my intention, no."
"Knowing what your profession is you understand why I should want further details. Have you, for instance, an introduction to me from any of Norma's relations?"
"Again, no," said Hercule Poirot. "I will explain myself further."
"Thank you."
"In actual fact, I am employed by Miss Restarick's father, Andrew Restarick."
"Ah. He has recently returned to England, I believe, after many years' absence."
"That is so."
"But you do not bring me a letter of introduction from him?"
"I did not ask him for one."
Miss Battersby looked at him enquiringly.
"He might have insisted on coming with me," said Hercule Poirot. "That would have hampered me in asking you the questions that I wish to ask, because it is likely that the answers to them might cause him pain and distress. There is no reason why he should be caused further distress than he is already suffering at this moment."
"Has anything happened to Norma?"
"I hope not... There is, however, a possibility of that. You remember the girl, Miss Battersby?"
"I remember all my pupils. I have an excellent memory. Meadowfield, in any case, is not a very large school. Two hundred girls, no more."
"Why have you resigned from it, Miss Battersby?"
"Really, M. Poirot, I cannot see that that is any of your business."
"No, I am merely expressing my quite natural curiosity."
"I am seventy. Is that not a reason?"
"Not in your case, I should say. You appear to me to be in full vigour and energy, fully capable of continuing your headmistress-ship for a good many years to come."
"Times change, M. Poirot. One does not always like the way they are changing. I will satisfy your curiosity. I found I was having less and less patience with parents. Their aims for their daughters are shortsighted and quite frankly stupid."
Miss Battersby was, as Poirot knew from looking up her qualifications, a very well-known mathematician.
Hercule Poirot looked up at the faзade of the dignified Georgian house in what had been until recently a quiet street in an old-fashioned market town. Progress was rapidly overtaking it, but the new supermarket, the Gifte Shoppe, Margery's Boutique, Peg's Cafй, and a palatial new bank, had all chosen sites in Croft Road and not encroached on the narrow High Street.
The brass knocker on the door was brightly polished, Poirot noted with approval. He pressed the bell at the side.
It was opened almost at once by a tall distinguished-looking woman with upswept grey hair and an energetic manner.
"M. Poirot? You are very punctual. Come in."
"Miss Battersby?"
"Certainly." She held back the door.
Poirot entered. She deposited his hat on the hall stand and led the way to a pleasant room overlooking a narrow walled garden. She waved towards a chair and sat down herself in an attitude of expectation. It was clear that Miss Battersby was not one to lose time in conventional utterances.
"You are, I think, the former Principal of Meadowfield School?"
"Yes. I retired a year ago. I understand you wished to see me on the subject of Norma Restarick, a former pupil."
"That is right."
"In your letter," said Miss Battersby, "you gave me no further details." She added, "I may say that I know who you are, M. Poirot. I should therefore like a little more information before I proceed further. Are you, for instance, thinking of employing Norma Restarick?"
"That is not my intention, no."
"Knowing what your profession is you understand why I should want further details. Have you, for instance, an introduction to me from any of Norma's relations?"
"Again, no," said Hercule Poirot. "I will explain myself further."
"Thank you."
"In actual fact, I am employed by Miss Restarick's father, Andrew Restarick."
"Ah. He has recently returned to England, I believe, after many years' absence."
"That is so."
"But you do not bring me a letter of introduction from him?"
"I did not ask him for one."
Miss Battersby looked at him enquiringly.
"He might have insisted on coming with me," said Hercule Poirot. "That would have hampered me in asking you the questions that I wish to ask, because it is likely that the answers to them might cause him pain and distress. There is no reason why he should be caused further distress than he is already suffering at this moment."
"Has anything happened to Norma?"
"I hope not... There is, however, a possibility of that. You remember the girl, Miss Battersby?"
"I remember all my pupils. I have an excellent memory. Meadowfield, in any case, is not a very large school. Two hundred girls, no more."
"Why have you resigned from it, Miss Battersby?"
"Really, M. Poirot, I cannot see that that is any of your business."
"No, I am merely expressing my quite natural curiosity."
"I am seventy. Is that not a reason?"
"Not in your case, I should say. You appear to me to be in full vigour and energy, fully capable of continuing your headmistress-ship for a good many years to come."
"Times change, M. Poirot. One does not always like the way they are changing. I will satisfy your curiosity. I found I was having less and less patience with parents. Their aims for their daughters are shortsighted and quite frankly stupid."
Miss Battersby was, as Poirot knew from looking up her qualifications, a very well-known mathematician.
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