At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [36]
“That’s what happened,” said Archdeacon Simmons, “depend upon it.” He explained it to Mrs. McCrae, who agreed that it was likely enough. “Then what would he do?”
“Go back to his hotel,” said Mrs. McCrae.
“He wouldn’t have come straight down here—gone straight to the station, I mean.”
“Not if his luggage was at the hotel. At any rate, he would have called there for his luggage.”
“True enough,” said Simmons. “All right. We’ll think of it like this. He left the airport with his little bag and he went back to the hotel, or started for the hotel at all events. He might have had dinner perhaps—no, he’d dined at the Athenaeum. All right, he went back to the hotel. But he never arrived there.” He paused a moment or two and then said doubtfully, “Or did he? Nobody seems to have seen him there. So what happened to him on the way?”
“He could have met someone,” said Mrs. McCrae, doubtfully.
“Yes. Of course that’s perfectly possible. Some old friend he hadn’t seen for a long time…He could have gone off with a friend to the friend’s hotel or the friend’s house, but he wouldn’t have stayed there three days, would he? He couldn’t have forgotten for three whole days that his luggage was at the hotel. He’d have rung up about it, he’d have called for it, or in a supreme fit of absentmindedness he might have come straight home. Three days’ silence. That’s what’s so inexplicable.”
“If he had an accident—”
“Yes, Mrs. McCrae, of course that’s possible. We can try the hospitals. You say he had plenty of papers on him to identify him? Hm—I think there’s only one thing for it.”
Mrs. McCrae looked at him apprehensively.
“I think, you know,” said the Archdeacon gently, “that we’ve got to go to the police.”
Chapter Twelve
Miss Marple had found no difficulty in enjoying her stay in London. She did a lot of the things that she had not had the time to do in her hitherto brief visits to the capital. It has to be regretfully noted that she did not avail herself of the wide cultural activities that would have been possible to her. She visited no picture galleries and no museums. The idea of patronizing a dress show of any kind would not even have occurred to her. What she did visit were the glass and china departments of the large stores, and the household linen departments, and she also availed herself of some marked down lines in furnishing fabrics. Having spent what she considered a reasonable sum upon these household investments, she indulged in various excursions of her own. She went to places and shops she remembered from her young days, sometimes merely with the curiosity of seeing whether they were still there. It was not a pursuit that she had ever had time for before, and she enjoyed it very much. After a nice little nap after lunch, she would go out, and, avoiding the attentions of the commissionaire if possible, because he was so firmly imbued with the idea that a lady of her age and frailty should always go in a taxi, she walked towards a bus stop, or tube station. She had bought a small guide to buses and their routes—and an Underground Transport Map; and she would plan her excursion carefully. One afternoon she could be seen walking happily and nostalgically round Evelyn Gardens or Onslow Square murmuring softly, “Yes, that was Mrs. Van Dylan’s house. Of course it looks quite different now. They seem to have remodelled it. Dear me, I see it’s got four bells. Four flats, I suppose. Such a nice old-fashioned square this always was.”
Rather shamefacedly she paid a visit to Madame Tussaud’s, a well-remembered delight of her childhood. In Westbourne Grove she looked in vain for Bradley’s. Aunt Helen had always gone to Bradley’s about her sealskin jacket.
Window shopping in the general sense did not interest Miss Marple, but she had a splendid time rounding up knitting patterns, new varieties of knitting wool, and suchlike delights. She made a special expedition to Richmond to see the house that had been occupied by Great-Uncle Thomas, the retired admiral.