At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [33]
It cannot be said that she was worried. This sort of thing had happened before. There was nothing to be done but wait for news of some kind. The possibilities were numerous. Canon Pennyfather might have got on the wrong train and failed to discover his mistake until he was at Land’s End or John o’ Groats, or he might still be in London having made some mistake in the date, and was therefore convinced he was not returning until tomorrow. He might have met a friend or friends at this foreign conference he was going to and been induced to stay out there perhaps over the weekend. He would have meant to let her know but had entirely forgotten to do so. So, as has been already said, she was not worried. The day after tomorrow his old friend, Archdeacon Simmons, was coming to stay. That was the sort of thing the Canon did remember, so no doubt he himself or a telegram from him would arrive tomorrow and at latest he would be home on the day after, or there would be a letter.
The morning of the day after, however, arrived without a word from him. For the first time Mrs. McCrae began to be uneasy. Between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m. she eyed the telephone in a doubtful manner. Mrs. McCrae had her own fixed views about the telephone. She used it and recognized its convenience but she was not fond of the telephone. Some of her household shopping was done by telephone, though she much preferred to do it in person owing to a fixed belief that if you did not see what you were being given, a shopkeeper was sure to try and cheat you. Still, telephones were useful for domestic matters. She occasionally, though rarely, telephoned her friends or relations in the near neighbourhood. To make a call of any distance, or a London call, upset her severely. It was a shameful waste of money. Nevertheless, she began to meditate facing that problem.
Finally, when yet another day dawned without any news of him, she decided to act. She knew where the Canon was staying in London. Bertram’s Hotel. A nice old-fashioned place. It might be as well, perhaps, if she rang up and made certain inquiries. They would probably know where the Canon was. It was not an ordinary hotel. She would asked to be put through to Miss Gorringe. Miss Gorringe was always efficient and thoughtful. The Canon might, of course, return by the twelve thirty. If so he would be here any minute now.
But the minutes passed and there was no Canon. Mrs. McCrae took a deep breath, nerved herself and asked for a call to London. She waited, biting her lips and holding the receiver clamped firmly to her ear.
“Bertram’s Hotel, at your service,” said a voice.
“I would like, if you please, to speak to Miss Gorringe,” said Mrs. McCrae.
“Just a moment. What name shall I say?”
“It’s Canon Pennyfather’s housekeeper. Mrs. McCrae.”
“Just a moment please.”
Presently the calm and efficient voice of Miss Gorringe came through.
“Miss Gorringe here. Did you say Canon Pennyfather’s housekeeper?”
“That’s right. Mrs. McCrae.”
“Oh yes. Of course. What can I do for you, Mrs. McCrae?”
“Is Canon Pennyfather staying at the hotel still?”
“I’m glad you’ve rung up,” said Miss Gorringe. “We have been rather worried as to what exactly to do.”
“Do you mean something’s happened to Canon Pennyfather? Has he had an accident?”
“No, no, nothing of that kind. But we expected him back from Lucerne on Friday or Saturday.”
“Eh—that’d be right.”
“But he didn’t arrive. Well, of course that wasn’t really surprising. He had booked his room on—booked it, that is, until yesterday. He didn’t come back yesterday or send any word and his things are still here. The major part of his baggage. We hadn’t been quite sure what to do about it. Of course,” Miss Gorringe went on hastily, “we know the Canon is, well—somewhat forgetful sometimes.”
“You may well say that!”
“It makes it a little difficult for us. We are so fully booked up. His room is actually booked for another guest.” She added: “You have no