At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [39]
“Tell me, gentle stranger, are there anymore at home like you?” intoned Father and then in a sudden falsetto, “A few, kind sir, and nicer girls you never knew. No, let’s see, I’ve got the sexes mixed-up. Floradora. That was a good show, too.”
“I believe I’ve heard of it, sir,” said Inspector Campbell.
“Your mother sang you to sleep in the cradle with it, I expect,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “Now then, what’s been going on at Bertram’s Hotel? Who has disappeared and how and why?”
“A Canon Pennyfather, sir. Elderly clergyman.”
“Dull case, eh?”
Inspector Campbell smiled.
“Yes, sir, it is rather dull in a way.”
“What did he look like?”
“Canon Pennyfather?”
“Yes—you’ve got a description, I suppose?”
“Of course.” Campbell shuffled papers and read: “Height 5 ft 8. Large thatch of white hair—stoops….”
“And he disappeared from Bertram’s Hotel—when?”
“About a week ago—November 19th.”
“And they’ve just reported it. Took their time about it, didn’t they?”
“Well, I think there was a general idea that he’d turn up.”
“Any idea what’s behind it?” asked Father. “Has a decent God-fearing man suddenly gone off with one of the churchwardens’ wives? Or does he do a bit of secret drinking, or has he embezzled church funds? Or is he the sort of absentminded old chap who goes in for this sort of thing?”
“Well, from all I can hear, sir, I should say the latter. He’s done it before.”
“What—disappeared from a respectable West End hotel?”
“No, not exactly that, but he’s not always returned home when he was expected. Occasionally he’s turned up to stay with friends on a day when they haven’t asked him, or not turned up on the date when they had asked him. That sort of thing.”
“Yes,” said Father. “Yes. Well that sounds very nice and natural and according to plan, doesn’t it? When exactly did you say he disappeared?”
“Thursday. November 19th. He was supposed to be attending a congress at—” He bent down and studied some papers on his desk. “—oh yes, Lucerne. Society of Biblical Historical Studies. That’s the English translation of it. I think it’s actually a German society.”
“And it was held at Lucerne? The old boy—I suppose he is an old boy?”
“Sixty-three, sir, I understand.”
“The old boy didn’t turn up, is that it?”
Inspector Campbell drew his papers towards him and gave Father the ascertainable facts in so far as they had been ascertained.
“Doesn’t sound as if he’d gone off with a choirboy,” observed Chief-Inspector Davy.
“I expect he’ll turn up all right,” said Campbell, “but we’re looking into it, of course. Are you—er—particularly interested in the case, sir?” He could hardly restrain his curiosity on this point.
“No,” said Davy thoughtfully. “No, I’m not interested in the case. I don’t see anything to be interested about in it.”
There was a pause, a pause which clearly contained the words, “Well, then?” with a question mark after it from Inspector Campbell, which he was too well-trained to utter in audible tones.
“What I’m really interested in,” said Father, “is the date. And Bertram’s Hotel, of course.”
“It’s always been very well-conducted, sir. No trouble there.”
“That’s very nice, I’m sure,” said Father. He added thoughtfully, “I’d rather like to have a look at the place.”
“Of course, sir,” said Inspector Campbell. “Anytime you like. I was thinking of going round there myself.”
“I might as well come along with you,” said Father. “Not to butt in, nothing like that. But I’d just rather like to have a look at the place, and this disappearing Archdeacon of yours, or whatever he is, makes rather a good excuse. No need to call me ‘sir’ when we’re there—you throw your weight about. I’ll just be your stooge.”
Inspector Campbell became interested.
“Do you think there’s something that might tie in there, sir, something that might tie in with something else?”
“There’s no reason to believe so, so far,” said Father. “But you know how it is. One gets—I don’t know what to call them