Hercule Poirot sat in his chair, a cup of herbal tea meticulously prepared by George resting on the side table. He sipped thoughtfully, his mind navigating through a maze of clues and details. For Poirot, solving a case was like assembling a jigsaw puzzle—sorting through scattered pieces to reveal a clear picture. He closed his eyes, mentally organizing the fragments of information he had gathered so far.

His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of George quietly opening the door.

"Sir, there’s a young lady here," George said in his ever-calm manner. "She’s the one who accompanied Sir Roderick during his previous visit."

Poirot raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Show her in.”

Before George could comply, Sonia burst into the room, her face flushed with anxiety.

“I have to tell you—I didn’t take those documents!” she blurted out, her words spilling out in a rush. “I didn’t steal anything, do you understand?”

Poirot gestured for her to take a seat, his tone calm and measured. “Has someone accused you?”

“No… but everyone is implying it,” Sonia said, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “They suspect me because I’m foreign. They think I’m like one of those characters in spy novels, but I’m not! I’m an educated woman.”

Poirot nodded, his expression reassuring. “I believe you.”

“You do?” Sonia’s posture relaxed slightly, though uncertainty still lingered in her voice. “Do you think the documents will be found?”

“I am investigating that,” Poirot said gently. “But there are other matters requiring immediate attention.”

Sonia hesitated, then added, “Sir Roderick is a muddle-headed old man. He constantly misplaces things. I didn’t take the documents, but no one will believe me.”

Poirot smiled faintly. “I understand your frustration. By the way, do you have other plans in London today? Perhaps a visit to the British Museum or the Victoria and Albert Museum?”

Sonia froze, her brow furrowing. “Why would you ask about those places?”

“Because you mentioned having a free day,” Poirot said casually. “I assumed you might use it to do something enjoyable, such as visiting Kew Gardens.”

Her expression changed instantly, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Why are you mentioning Kew Gardens?”

Poirot shrugged lightly. “It’s a beautiful place, with a vast array of plants. Many visitors enjoy reading or relaxing there.”

Sonia’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharpening. “Someone must have told you something! I’m telling you, Sir Roderick doesn’t have any significant secret documents—this is all a misunderstanding.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” Poirot replied smoothly. “I simply deduce based on the circumstances. However, you mentioned that Mrs. Restarick might have secrets. Who does she associate with?”

Sonia hesitated, her demeanor cautious. Finally, she said, “I think she often goes to London to meet a man. She always says she’s shopping, but I don’t believe her.”

“Do you know who this man is?”

“No,” Sonia admitted. “I haven’t followed her, but I’m sure she’s hiding something. Her husband is too busy with work to notice.”

Poirot nodded. “And what about her daughter? What do you make of her?”

“Norma?” Sonia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think there’s something wrong with her mentally. She’s always distracted, sometimes saying odd things. It’s like she sees people who aren’t there.”

“Does she resent her stepmother?”

“Probably.” Sonia nodded. “She also looks at her father with a lot of hostility. They don’t approve of her boyfriend, and she’s very angry about that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did something extreme, like… taking her own life.”

Poirot paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Does Mrs. Restarick wear a wig?”

Sonia blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Possibly. Wigs are convenient for traveling and fashionable. I have a green one myself.” She hesitated, then added, “I must leave now.”

Poirot watched as Sonia hurried out, her anxiety palpable. Once she was gone, he leaned back in his chair, the wheels of his mind turning.

“A wig… Kew Gardens… stolen documents… secrets in the Restarick household. The pieces are falling into place,” Poirot murmured to himself, his sharp gaze fixed on the distance. “But where will they lead?”