Elizabeth Barnard's parents lived in a minute bungalow，one of fifty or
so recently run up by a speculative builder on the confines of the town.The
name of it was Llandudno.Mr Barnard，a stout，bewildered-looking man of
fifty-five or so，had noticed our approach and was standing waiting in the
doorway.
"Come in，gentlemen，"he said.
Inspector Kelsey took the initiative.
"This is Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard，sir，"he said "He's come down
to help us over this business."
"Scotland Yard?"said Mr Barnard hopefully."That's good.This murdering
willain's got to be laid by the heels.My poor little girl-"His face was
distorted by a spasm of grief.
"And this is Mr Hercule Poirot，also from London，and er-""Captain
Hastings，"said Poirot.
"Pleased to meet you，gentlemen，"said Mr Barnard mechanically."Come
into the snuggery.I don't know that my poor wife's up to seeing you.All
broken up，she is."
However，by the time that we were ensconced in the living room of the
bungalow，Mrs Barnard had made her appearnace.She had evidently been crying
bitterly，her eyes were reddened and she walked with the uncertain gait of a
person who had had a great shock.
"Why，mother，that's fine，"said Mr Barnard."You're sure you're all
right-eh?"
He patted her shoulder and drew her down into a chair.
"The superintendent was very kind，"said Mr Barnard."After he'd broken
the news to us，he said he'd leave any questions till later when we'd got
over the first shock."
"It is too cruel.Oh，it is too cruel，"cried Mrs Barnard tearfully.
"The cruellest thing that ever was，it is."
Her voice had a faintly sing-song intonation that I thought for a moment
was foreign till I remembered the name on the gate and realized that the
"effer wass"of her speech was in reality proof of her Welsh origin.
"It's very painful，madam，I know，"said Inspector Crome."And we've
every sympathy for you，but we want to know all the facts we can so as to
get to work as quick as possible."
"That's sense，that is."said Mr Barnard，nodding approval.
"Your daughter was twenty-three，I understand.She lived here with you
and worked at the Ginger Cat cafe，is that right?"
"That's it."
"This is a new place，isn't it?Where did you live before?"
"I was in the ironmongery business in Kennington.Retired two years ago.
Always meant to live near the sea."
"You have two daughters?"
"Yes.My elder daughter works in an office in London."
"Weren't you alarmed when your daughter didn't come home last night?"
"We didn't know she hadn't，"said Mrs Barnard tearfully."Dad and I
always go to bed early.Nine o'clock's our time.We never knew Betty hadn't
come home till the police officer came and said-and said-"She broke down.
"Was your daughter in the habit of-er-returning home late?"
"You know what girls are nowadays，inspector，"said Barnard.
"Independent，that's what they are.These summer evenings they're not
going to rush home.
All the same，Betty was usually in by eleven."
"How did she get in?Was the door open?"
"Left the key under the mat-that's what we always did."
"There is some rumour，I believe，that your daughter was engaged to be
married?"
"They don't put it as formally as that nowadays，"said Mr Barnard.
"Donald Fraser his name is，and I liked him.I liked him very much，"said
Mrs Barnard."Poor fellow，it'll be trouble for him-this news.Does he know
yet，I wonder?"
"He works in Court＆Brunskill's，I understand?"
"Yes，they're the estate agents."
"Was he in the habit of meeting your daughter most evening after her
work?"
"Not every evening.Once or twice a week would be nearer."
"Do you know if she was going to meet him yesterday?"
"She didn't say.Betty nerver said much about what she was doing or where
she was going.But she was a good girl，Betty was.Oh，I can't believe-"Mrs
Barnard started sobbing again.
"Pull yourself together，old lady.Try to hold up，mother，"urged her
husband."We've got to get to the bottom of this."
"I'm sure Donald would never-would never-"sobbed Mrs Barnard.
"Now just you pull yourself together，"repeated Mr Barnard.
"I wish to God I could give you some help-but the plain fact is I know
nothing-nothing at all that can help you to find the dastardly scoundrel who
did this.Betty was just a merry，happy girl-with a decent young fellow that
she was-well，we'd have called it walking out with in my young days.
Why anyone should want to murder her simply beats me-it doesn't make
sense.
""You're very near the truth there，Mr Barnard，"said Crome."I tell you
what I'd like to do-have a look over Miss Barnard's room.There may be
something-letters-or a diary."
"Look over it and welcome，"said Mr Barnard，rising.
He led the way.Crome followed him，then Poirot，the Kelsey，and I
brought up the rear.
I stopped for a minute to retie my shoelaces，and as I did so a taxi
drew up outside and a girl jumped out of it.She paid the driver and hurried
up the path to the house，carrying a small suitcase.As she entered the door
she saw me and stopped dead.
There was something so arresting in her pose that it intrigued me.
"Who are you?"she said.
I came down a few steps.I felt embarrassed as to how exactly to reply.
Should I give my name?Or mention that I had come here with the
police?The girl，however，gave me no time to make a decision.
"Oh，well，"she said，"I can guess."
She pulled off the little white woolen cap she was wearing and threw it
on the ground.I could see her better now as she turned a little so that the
light fell on her.
My first impression was of the Dutch dolls that my sisters used to play
with in my childhood.Her hair was black and cut in a straight bob and a bang
across the forehead.Her cheek-bones were high and her whole figure had a
queer modern angularity that was not，somehow，unattractive.She was not
good-looking-plain rather-but there was an intensity about her，a
forcefulness that made her a person quite impossible to overlook.
"You are Miss Barnard?"I asked.
"I am Megan Barnard.You belong to the police，I suppose?"
"Well，"I said."Not exactly-"She interrupted me.
"I don't think I've got anything to say to you.My sister was a nice
bright girl with no men friends.Good morning."
She gave me a short laugh as she spoke and regarded me challengingly.
"That's the correct phrase，I believe?"she said.
"I'm not a reporter，if that's what you're getting at."
"Well，what are you?"She looked around "Where's mum and dad?"
"Your father is showing the police your sister's bedroom.Your mother's
in there.She's very upset."
The girl seemed to make a decision.
"Come in here，"she said.
She pulled open a door and passed through.I followed her and found
myself in a small，neat kitchen.
I was about to shut the door behind me-but found an unexpected
resistance.The next moment Poirot had slipped quietly into the room and shut
the door behing him.
"Mademoiselle Barnard?"he said with a quick glance.
"This is M.Hercule Poirot，"I said.
Megan Barnard gave him a quick，appraising glance.
"I've heard of you，"she said."You're the fashionable private sleuth，
aren't you?"
"Not a pretty description-but it suffices，"said Poirot.
The girl sat down on the edge of the kitchen table.She felt in her bag
for a cigarette.She placed it between her lips，lighted it，and then said in
between two puffs of smoke:
"Somehow，I don't see what M.Hercule Poirot is doing in our humble
little crime."
"Mademoiselle，"said Poirot."What you do not see and what I do not see
would probably fill a volume.But all that is of no practical importance.
What is of practical importance is something that will not be easy to
find."
"What's that?"
"Death，mademoiselle，unfortunately creates a prejudice.A prejudice in
favour of the deceased.I heard what you said just now to my friend
Hastings."A nice bright girl with no men friends."You said that in mockery
of the newspapers，And it is very true-when a young girl is dead，that is
the kind of thing that is said.She was bright.She was happy.She was
sweet-tempered.She had not a care in the world.She had no undesirable
acquaintances.There is a great charity always to the dead.Do you know what I
should like this minute?I should like to find someone who knew Elizabeth
Barnard and who does not know she is dead!Then，perhaps，I should hear what
is useful to me-the truth."
Megan Barnard looked at him for a few minutes in silence whilst she
smoked.Then，at last，she spoke.Her words made me jump.
"Betty，"she said，"was an unmitigated little ass!"
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