By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [43]
‘Tea, then. Four-thirty I’ll expect you.’ It was almost a Royal Command. Tuppence smiled, nodded, let in the clutch and drove on.
Possibly, Tuppence thought–if she got anything interesting out of the house agents in Market Basing–Nellie Bligh might provide additional useful information. She was the kind of woman who prided herself on knowing all about everyone. The snag was that she would be determined to know all about Tuppence. Possibly by this afternoon Tuppence would have recovered sufficiently to be once more her own inventive self!
‘Remember, Mrs Blenkinsop,’ said Tuppence, edging round a sharp corner and squeezing into a hedge to avoid being annihilated by a frolicsome tractor of immense bulk.
Arrived in Market Basing she put the car in a parking lot in the main square, and went into the post office and entered a vacant telephone box.
The voice of Albert answered–using his usual response–a single ‘Hallo’ uttered in a suspicious voice.
‘Listen, Albert–I’ll be home tomorrow. In time for dinner, anyway–perhaps earlier. Mr Beresford will be back, too, unless he rings up. Get us something–chicken, I think.’
‘Right, Madam. Where are you–’
But Tuppence had rung off.
The life of Market Basing seemed centred in its important main square–Tuppence had consulted a classified directory before leaving the post office and three out of the four house and estate agents were situated in the square–the fourth in something called George Street.
Tuppence scribbled down the names and went out to look for them.
She started with Messrs Lovebody & Slicker which appeared to be the most imposing.
A girl with spots received her.
‘I want to make some inquiries about a house.’
The girl received this news without interest. Tuppence might have been inquiring about some rare animal.
‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said the girl, looking round to ascertain if there was one of her colleagues to whom she could pass Tuppence on–
‘A house,’ said Tuppence. ‘You are house agents, aren’t you?’
‘House agents and auctioneers. The Cranberry Court auction’s on Wednesday if it’s that you’re interested in, catalogues two shillings.’
‘I’m not interested in auctions. I want to ask about a house.’
‘Furnished?’
‘Unfurnished–To buy–or rent.’
Spots brightened a little.
‘I think you’d better see Mr Slicker.’
Tuppence was all for seeing Mr Slicker and was presently seated in a small office opposite a tweed-suited young man in horsy checks, who began turning over a large number of particulars of desirable residences–murmuring comments to himself…‘8 Mandeville Road–architect built, three bed, American kitchen–Oh, no, that’s gone–Amabel Lodge–picturesque residence, four acres–reduced price for quick sale–’
Tuppence interrupted him forcefully: ‘I have seen a house I like the look of–In Sutton Chancellor–or rather, near Sutton Chancellor–by a canal–’
‘Sutton Chancellor,’ Mr Slicker looked doubtful–‘I don’t think we have any property there on our books at present. What name?’
‘It doesn’t seem to have any written up–Possibly Waterside. Rivermead–once called Bridge House. I gather,’ said Tuppence, ‘the house is in two parts. One half is let but the tenant there could not tell me anything about the other half, which fronts on the canal and which is the one in which I am interested. It appears to be unoccupied.’
Mr Slicker said distantly that he was afraid he couldn’t help her, but condescended to supply the information that perhaps Messrs Blodget & Burgess might do so. By the tone in his voice the clerk seemed to imply this Messrs Blodget & Burgess were a very inferior firm.
Tuppence transferred herself to Messrs Blodget & Burgess who were on the opposite side of the square–and whose premises closely resembled those of Messrs Lovebody & Slicker–the same kind of sale bills and forthcoming auctions in their rather grimy windows. Their front door had recently been repainted a rather bilious shade