At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [32]
“Nonsense. She’s just a sweet simple girl.”
“What you don’t know about sweet simple girls would fill an album! Her mother ran away and caused a scandal—remember?—when she was younger than Elvira is today. As for old Coniston, he was one of the worst rips in England.”
“You upset me, Richard. You upset me very much.”
“You might as well be warned. What I didn’t quite like was one of her other questions. Why is she so anxious to know who’d inherit her money if she dies?”
“It’s queer your saying that, because she asked me that same question.”
“Did she now? Why should her mind run on early death? She asked me about her mother, by the way.”
Colonel Luscombe’s voice sounded worried as he said: “I wish Bess would get in touch with the girl.”
“Have you been talking to her on the subject—to Bess, I mean?”
“Well, yes…Yes I did. I ran across her by chance. We were staying in the same hotel, as a matter of fact. I urged Bess to make some arrangements to see the girl.”
“What did she say?” asked Egerton curiously.
“Refused point-blank. She more or less said that she wasn’t a safe person for the girl to know.”
“Looked at from one point of view I don’t suppose she is,” said Egerton. “She’s mixed-up with that racing fellow, isn’t she?”
“I’ve heard rumours.”
“Yes, I’ve heard them too. I don’t know if there’s much in it really. There might be, I suppose. That could be why she feels as she does. Bess’s friends are strong meat from time to time! But what a woman she is, eh Derek? What a woman.”
“Always been her own worst enemy,” said Derek Luscombe, gruffly.
“A really nice conventional remark,” said Egerton. “Well, sorry I bothered you, Derek, but keep a look out for undesirables in the background. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”
He replaced the receiver and drew the pages on his desk towards him once more. This time he was able to put his whole attention on what he was doing.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs. McCrae, Canon Pennyfather’s housekeeper, had ordered a Dover sole for the evening of his return. The advantages attached to a good Dover sole were manifold. It need not be introduced to the grill or frying pan until the Canon was safely in the house. It could be kept until the next day if necessary. Canon Pennyfather was fond of Dover sole; and, if a telephone call or telegram arrived saying that the Canon would after all be elsewhere on this particular evening, Mrs. McCrae was fond of a good Dover sole herself. All therefore was in good trim for the Canon’s return. The Dover sole would be followed by pancakes. The sole sat on the kitchen table, the batter for the pancakes was ready in a bowl. All was in readiness. The brass shone, the silver sparkled, not a minuscule of dust showed anywhere. There was only one thing lacking. The Canon himself.
The Canon was scheduled to return on the train arriving at 6:30 from London.
At 7 o’clock he had not returned. No doubt the train was late. At 7:30 he still had not returned. Mrs. McCrae gave a sigh of vexation. She suspected that this was going to be another of these things. Eight o’clock came and no Canon. Mrs. McCrae gave a long, exasperated sigh. Soon, no doubt, she would get a telephone call, though it was quite within the bounds of possibility that there would not be even a telephone call. He might have written to her. No doubt he had written, but he had probably omitted to post the letter.
“Dear, dear!” said Mrs. McCrae.
At 9 o’clock she made herself three pancakes with the pancake batter. The sole she put carefully away in the Frigidaire. “I wonder where the good man’s got to now,” she said to herself. She knew by experience that he might be anywhere. The odds were that he would discover his mistake in time to telegraph her or telephone her before she retired to bed. “I shall sit up until 11 o’clock but no longer,” said Mrs. McCrae. Ten thirty was her bedtime, an extension to eleven she considered her duty,