I gave a shiver.

‘Well,’ said Crome, ‘we’d better be getting along.’

We set out forthwith.

Our first visit was to the Ginger Cat. Situated on the sea front, this was the usual type of small tearoom. It had little tables covered with orange-checked cloths and basket-work chairs of exceeding discomfort with orange cushions on them. It was the kind of place that specialized in morning coffee, five different kinds of teas (Devonshire, Farmhouse, Fruit, Carlton and Plain), and a few sparing lunch dishes for females such as scrambled eggs and shrimps and macaroni au gratin.

The morning coffees were just getting under way. The manageress ushered us hastily into a very untidy back sanctum.

‘Miss—eh—Merrion?’ inquired Crome.

Miss Merrion bleated out in a high, distressed-gentlewoman voice:

‘That is my name. This is a most distressing business. Most distressing. How it will affect our business I really cannot think!’

Miss Merrion was a very thin woman of forty with wispy orange hair (indeed she was astonishingly like a ginger cat herself). She played nervously with various fichus and frills that were part of her official costume.

‘You’ll have a boom,’ said Inspector Kelsey encouragingly. ‘You’ll see! You won’t be able to serve teas fast enough!’

‘Disgusting,’ said Miss Merrion. ‘Truly disgusting. It makes one despair of human nature.’

But her eyes brightened nevertheless.

‘What can you tell me about the dead girl, Miss Merrion?’

‘Nothing,’ said Miss Merrion positively. ‘Absolutely nothing!’

‘How long had she been working here?’

‘This was the second summer.’

‘You were satisfied with her?’

‘She was a good waitress—quick and obliging.’

‘She was pretty, yes?’ inquired Poirot.

Miss Merrion, in her turn, gave him an ‘Oh, these foreigners’ look.

‘She was a nice, clean-looking girl,’ she said distantly.

‘What time did she go off duty last night?’ asked Crome.

‘Eight o’clock. We close at eight. We do not serve dinners. There is no demand for them. Scrambled eggs and tea (Poirot shuddered) people come in for up to seven o’clock and sometimes after, but our rush is over by 6.30.’

‘Did she mention to you how she proposed to spend her evening?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Merrion emphatically. ‘We were not on those terms.’

‘No one came in and called for her? Anything like that?’

‘No.’

‘Did she seem quite her ordinary self? Not excited or depressed?’

‘Really I could not say,’ said Miss Merrion aloofly.

‘How many waitresses do you employ?’

‘Two normally, and an extra two after the 20th July until the end of August.’

‘But Elizabeth Barnard was not one of the extras?’

‘Miss Barnard was one of the regulars.’

‘What about the other one?’

‘Miss Higley? She is a very nice young lady.’

‘Were she and Miss Barnard friends?’

‘Really I could not say.’

‘Perhaps we’d better have a word with her.’

‘Now?’

‘If you please.’

‘I will send her to you,’ said Miss Merrion, rising. ‘Please keep her as short a time as possible. This is the morning coffee rush hour.’