That was a bit odd.
In fact, everything he could learn about Mr. and Mrs. Chapman seemed odd.
"He found out the porter hadn't seen Miss Sainsbury Seale leave again.
That in itself wasn't unusual. She might easily have come down the stairs and gone out without his seeing her.
But then the porter told him that Mrs. Chapman had gone away rather suddenly.
There was just a big printed notice outside the door the next morning: NO MILK – TELL NELLIE I AM CALLED AWAY.
'"Nellie was the daily maid who did for her.
Mrs. Chapman had gone away suddenly once or twice before, so the girl didn't think it odd, but what was odd was the fact that she hadn't rung for the porter to take her luggage down or get her a taxi.
"Anyway, Beddoes decided to get into the flat.
We got a search warrant and a pass key from the manager. Found nothing of interest except in the bathroom. There had been some hasty clearing up done there.
There was a trace of blood on the linoleum – in the corners where it had been missed when the floor was washed over.
After that, it was just a question of finding the body.
Mrs. Chapman couldn't have left with any luggage with her or the porter would have known. Therefore the body must still be in the flat.
We soon spotted that fur chest – air-tight, you know – just the place. Keys were in the dressing table drawer. "We opened it up – and there was the missing lady! Mistletoe Bough up to date."
Poirot asked: "What about Mrs. Chapman?"
"What indeed?
'Who is Sylvia' (her name's Sylvia, by the way), 'what is she?'
One thing is certain. Sylvia, or Sylvia's friends, murdered the lady and put her in the box."
Poirot nodded.
He asked: "But why was her face battered in?
It is not nice, that." "I'll say it isn't nice! As to why – well, one can only guess.
Sheer vindictiveness, perhaps. Or it may have been with the idea of concealing the woman's identity."
Poirot frowned. He said, "But it did not conceal her identity."
"No, because not only had we got a pretty good description of what Mabelle Sainsbury Seale was wearing when she disappeared, but her handbag had been stuffed into the fur box, too, and inside the handbag there was actually an old letter addressed to her at her hotel in Russell Square."
Poirot sat up. He said: "But that – that does not make the common sense!"
"It certainly doesn't. I suppose it was a slip." "Yes – perhaps – a slip. But -" He got up.
"You have been over the flat?"
"Pretty well.
There's nothing illuminating."
"I should like to see Mrs. Chapman's bedroom." "Come along then."
The bedroom showed no signs of a hasty departure.
It was neat and tidy.
The bed had not been slept in, but was turned down ready for the night.
There was a thick coating of dust everywhere.
Japp said: "No fingerprints, so far as we can see.
There are some on the kitchen things, but I expect they'll turn out to be the maid's."
"That means that the whole place was dusted very carefully after the murder?"
"Yes."
Poirot's eyes swept slowly round the room.
Like the sitting room it was furnished in the modern style – and furnished, so he thought, by someone with a moderate income.
The articles in it were expensive but not ultra-expensive.
They were showy but not first class.
The color scheme was rose pink.
He looked into the built-in wardrobe and handled the clothes – smart clothes but again not of first class quality.
His eyes fell to the shoes – they were largely of the sandal variety popular at the moment; some had exaggerated cork soles.
He balanced one in his hand, registered the fact that Mrs. Chapman had taken a size five in shoes and put it down again.
In another cupboard he found a pile of furs, shoved in in a heap.
Japp said: "Came out of the fur chest."
Poirot nodded.
He was handling a grey squirrel coat.