And then she smiled. It was a very nice smile - like a happy young nannie.
"All right," she said.
She crossed the room to Hercule Poirot.
"I was rude, too," she said. "The day I came here when you were having breakfast.
I said to you that you were too old to help me. That was a rude thing to say. And it wasn't true…," She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
"You'd better get us a taxi," she said to Stillingfleet.
Dr. Stillingfleet nodded and left the room. Mrs. Oliver collected a handbag and a fur stole and Norma slipped on a coat and followed her to the door.
"Madamey un petit moment - " Mrs. Oliver turned. Poirot had collected from the recesses of the sofa a handsome coil of grey hair.
Mrs. Oliver exclaimed vexedly: "It's just like everything that they make nowadays, no good at all! Hairpins, I mean.
They just slip out, and everything falls." She went out frowning.
A moment or two later she poked her head round the door again. She spoke in a conspiratorial whisper: "Just tell me-it's all right, I've sent her on down - did you send that girl to this particular doctor on purpose?"
"Of course I did. His qualifications are - "
"Never mind his qualifications. You know what I mean. He and she - Did you?"
"If you must know, yes."
"I thought so," said Mrs. Oliver. "You do think of things, don't you."
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Third Girl hp-37 Page 23