4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [41]
“Do show me,” said Lucy politely.
“Curious, aren’t you? All women are curious.” He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door of the lower cupboard. From this he took out a surprisingly new-looking cash box. This, again, he unlocked.
“Take a look here, my dear. Know what these are?”
He lifted out a small paper-wrapped cylinder and pulled away the paper from one end. Gold coins trickled out into his palm.
“Look at these, young lady. Look at ’em, hold ’em, touch ’em. Know what they are? Bet you don’t! You’re too young. Sovereigns—that’s what they are. Good golden sovereigns. What we used before all these dirty bits of paper came into fashion. Worth a lot more than silly pieces of paper. Collected them a long time back. I’ve got other things in this box, too. Lots of things put away in here. All ready for the future. Emma doesn’t know—nobody knows. It’s our secret, see, girl? D’you know why I’m telling you and showing you?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m a played-out sick old man. Lots of life in the old dog yet. My wife’s been dead a long time. Always objecting to everything, she was. Didn’t like the names I gave the children—good Saxon names—no interest in that family tree. I never paid any attention to what she said, though—and she was a poor-spirited creature—always gave in. Now you’re a spirited filly—a very nice filly indeed. I’ll give you some advice. Don’t throw yourself away on a young man. Young men are fools! You want to take care of your future. You wait…” His fingers pressed into Lucy’s arm. He leaned to her ear. “I don’t say more than that. Wait. Those silly fools think I’m going to die soon. I’m not. Shouldn’t be surprised if I outlived the lot of them. And then we’ll see! Oh, yes, then we’ll see. Harold’s got no children. Cedric and Alfred aren’t married. Emma—Emma will never marry now. She’s a bit sweet on Quimper—but Quimper will never think of marrying Emma. There’s Alexander, of course. Yes, there’s Alexander… But, you know, I’m fond of Alexander… Yes, that’s awkward. I’m fond of Alexander.”
He paused for a moment, frowning, then said:
“Well, girl, what about it? What about it, eh?”
“Miss Eyelesbarrow….”
Emma’s voice came faintly through the closed study door. Lucy seized gratefully at the opportunity.
“Miss Crackenthorpe’s calling me. I must go. Thank you so much for all you have shown me….”
“Don’t forget…our secret….”
“I won’t forget,” said Lucy, and hurried out into the hall not quite certain as to whether she had or had not just received a conditional proposal of marriage.
II
Dermot Craddock sat at his desk in his room at New Scotland Yard. He was slumped sideways in an easy attitude, and was talking into the telephone receiver which he held with one elbow propped up on the table. He was speaking in French, a language in which he was tolerably proficient.
“It was only an idea, you understand,” he said.
“But decidedly it is an idea,” said the voice at the other end, from the Prefecture in Paris. “Already I have set inquiries in motion in those circles. My agent reports that he has two or three promising lines of inquiry. Unless there is some family life—or a lover, these women drop out of circulation very easily and no one troubles about them. They have gone on tour, or there is some new man—it is no one’s business to ask. It is a pity that the photograph you sent me is so difficult for anyone to recognize. Strangulation it does not improve the appearance. Still, that cannot be helped. I go now to study the latest reports of my agents on this matter. There will be, perhaps, something. Au revoir, mon cher.”
As Craddock reiterated the farewell politely, a slip of paper was placed before him on the desk. It read:
Miss Emma Crackenthorpe.
To see Detective-Inspector