"By the way," said Richard, "I´ve brought a girl."
"Oh, have you? What sort of girl?"
"She says she´s your niece."
"My niece?" Dr Pauncefoot brought his mind back with a struggle from his contemplation of mudbrick walls. "I don´t think I have a niece," he said doubtfully, as though he might have had one and forgotten about her.
"She´s coming out to work with you here, I gathered."
"Oh," Dr Pauncefoot Jones´ face cleared. "of course. That will be Veronica."
"Victoria, I think she said."
"Yes. yes, Victoria. Emerson wrote to me about her from Cambridge. A very able girl, I understand. An anthropologist. [...]"
Hehehe. This book is ridiculous.
I´m going out on a limp here, but I suspect that Agatha Christie has been constantly drunk while writing this book.