4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [23]
“That,” said Inspector Bacon grimly, “is just what I am going to ask her. Now, about Mr. Crackenthorpe. Will you—?”
“I’ll bring him along.”
Mr. Crackenthorpe, muffled in scarves, came walking at a brisk pace, the doctor beside him.
“Disgraceful,” he said. “Absolutely disgraceful! I brought back that sarcophagus from Florence in—let me see—it must have been in 1908—or was it 1909?”
“Steady now,” the doctor warned him. “This isn’t going to be nice, you know.”
“No matter how ill I am, I’ve got to do my duty, haven’t I?”
A very brief visit inside the Long Barn was, however, quite long enough. Mr. Crackenthorpe shuffled out into the air again with remarkable speed.
“Never saw her before in my life!” he said. “What’s it mean? Absolutely disgraceful. It wasn’t Florence—I remember now—it was Naples. A very fine specimen. And some fool of a woman has to come and get herself killed in it!”
He clutched at the folds of his overcoat on the left side.
“Too much for me… My heart… Where’s Emma? Doctor….”
Doctor Quimper took his arm.
“You’ll be all right,” he said. “I prescribe a little stimulant. Brandy.”
They went back together towards the house.
“Sir. Please, sir.”
Inspector Bacon turned. Two boys had arrived, breathless, on bicycles. Their faces were full of eager pleading.
“Please, sir, can we see the body?”
“No, you can’t,” said Inspector Bacon.
“Oh, sir, please, sir. You never know. We might know who she was. Oh, please, sir, do be a sport. It’s not fair. Here’s a murder, right in our own barn. It’s the sort of chance that might never happen again. Do be a sport, sir.”
“Who are you two?”
“I’m Alexander Eastley, and this is my friend James Stoddart-West.”
“Have you ever seen a blonde woman wearing a light-coloured dyed squirrel coat anywhere about the place?”
“Well, I can’t remember exactly,” said Alexander astutely. “If I were to have a look—”
“Take ’em in, Sanders,” said Inspector Bacon to the constable who was standing by the barn door. “One’s only young once!”
“Oh, sir, thank you, sir.” Both boys were vociferous. “It’s very kind of you, sir.”
Bacon turned away towards the house.
“And now,” he said to himself grimly, “for Miss Lucy Eyelesbarrow!”
III
After leading the police to the Long Barn, and giving a brief account of her actions, Lucy had retired into the background, but she was under no illusion that the police had finished with her.
She had just finished preparing potatoes for chips that evening when word was brought to her that Inspector Bacon required her presence. Putting aside the large bowl of cold water and salt in which the chips were reposing, Lucy followed the policeman to where the inspector awaited her. She sat down and awaited his questions composedly.
She gave her name—and her address in London, and added of her own accord:
“I will give you some names and addresses of references if you want to know all about me.”
The names were very good ones. An Admiral of the Fleet, the Provost of an Oxford College, and a Dame of the British Empire. In spite of himself Inspector Bacon was impressed.
“Now, Miss Eyelesbarrow, you went into the Long Barn to find some paint. Is that right? And after having found the paint you got a crowbar, forced up the lid of this sarcophagus and found the body. What were you looking for in the sarcophagus?”
“I was looking for a body,” said Lucy.
“You were looking for a body—and you found one! Doesn’t that seem to you a very extraordinary story?”
“Oh, yes, it is an extraordinary story. Perhaps you will let me explain it to you.”
“I certainly think you had better do so.”
Lucy gave him a precise recital of the events which had led up to her sensational discovery.
The inspector summed it up in an outraged voice.
“You were engaged by an elderly lady to obtain a post here and to search the house and grounds for a dead body? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Who is this elderly lady?”
“Miss Jane Marple. She is at present living at 4 Madison Road.”
The inspector wrote it down.
“You expect me to believe this