At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [24]
As Miss Marple waited for the lift down she memorized such scraps as she had heard.
“What about the weather forecast?”
“OK. No fog.”
“All set for Lucerne?”
“Yes. Plane leaves 9:40.”
That was all she had got the first time. On the way back it had lasted a little longer.
Bess Sedgwick had been speaking angrily.
“What possessed you to come to Bertram’s yesterday—you shouldn’t have come near the place.”
“It’s all right. I asked if you were staying there and everyone knows we’re close friends—”
“That’s not the point. Bertram’s is all right for me—Not for you. You stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone stares at you.”
“Let them!”
“You really are an idiot. Why—why? What reasons did you have? You had a reason—I know you….”
“Calm down, Bess.”
“You’re such a liar!”
That was all she had been able to hear. She found it interesting.
Chapter Seven
On the evening of 19th November Canon Pennyfather had finished an early dinner at the Athenaeum, he had nodded to one or two friends, had had a pleasant acrimonious discussion on some crucial points of the dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls and now, glancing at his watch, saw that it was time to leave to catch his plane to Lucerne. As he passed through the hall he was greeted by one more friend: Dr. Whittaker of the SOAS, who said cheerfully:
“How are you, Pennyfather? Haven’t seen you for a long time. How did you get on at the Congress? Any points of interest come up?”
“I am sure there will be.”
“Just come back from it, haven’t you?”
“No, no, I am on my way there. I’m catching a plane this evening.”
“Oh I see.” Whittaker looked slightly puzzled. “Somehow or other I thought the Congress was today.”
“No, no. Tomorrow, the 19th.”
Canon Pennyfather passed out through the door while his friend, looking after him, was just saying:
“But my dear chap, today is the 19th, isn’t it?”
Canon Pennyfather, however, had gone beyond earshot. He picked up a taxi in Pall Mall, and was driven to the air terminal in Kensington. There was quite a fair crowd this evening. Presenting himself at the desk it at last came to his turn. He managed to produce ticket and passport and other necessities for the journey. The girl behind the desk, about to stamp these credentials, paused abruptly.
“I beg your pardon, sir, this seems to be the wrong ticket.”
“The wrong ticket? No, no, that is quite right. Flight one hundred and—well, I can’t really read without my glasses—one hundred and something to Lucerne.”
“It’s the date, sir. This is dated Wednesday the 18th.”
“No, no, surely. At least—I mean—today is Wednesday the 18th.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Today is the 19th.”
“The 19th!” The Canon was dismayed. He fished out a small diary, turning the pages eagerly. In the end he had to be convinced. Today was the 19th. The plane he had meant to catch had gone yesterday.
“Then that means—that means—dear me, it means the Congress at Lucerne has taken place today.”
He stared in deep dismay across the counter; but there were many others travelling; the Canon and his perplexities were elbowed aside. He stood sadly, holding the useless ticket in his hand. His mind ranged over various possibilities. Perhaps his ticket could be changed? But that would be no use—no indeed—what time was it now? Going on for 9 o’clock? The conference had actually taken place; starting at 10 o’clock this morning. Of course, that was what Whittaker had meant at the Athenaeum. He thought Canon Pennyfather had already been to the Congress.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Canon Pennyfather, to himself. “What a muddle I have made of it all!” He wandered sadly and silently into the Cromwell Road, not at its best a very cheerful place.
He walked slowly along the street carrying his bag and revolving perplexities in his mind. When at last he had worked out to his satisfaction the various reasons for which he had made a mistake in the day, he shook his head sadly.
“Now, I suppose,” he said to himself, “I suppose—let me see, it’s after nine o’clock, yes, I suppose I had better have something to eat.”
It was curious, he thought, that he