By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [44]
The reception arrangements were equally discouraging, and Tuppence was given over to a Mr Sprig, an elderly man of apparently despondent disposition. Once more Tuppence retailed her wants and requirements.
Mr Sprig admitted to being aware of the existence of the residence in question, but was not helpful, or as far as it seemed, much interested.
‘It’s not in the market, I’m afraid. The owner doesn’t want to sell.’
‘Who is the owner?’
‘Really I doubt if I know. It has changed hands rather frequently–there was a rumour at one moment of a compulsory purchase order.’
‘What did any local government want it for?’
‘Really, Mrs–er–(he glanced down at Tuppence’s name jotted down on his blotter)–Mrs Beresford, if you could tell me the answer to that question you would be wiser than most victims are these days. The ways of local councils and planning societies are always shrouded in mystery. The rear portion of the house had a few necessary repairs done to it and was let at an exceedingly low rent to a–er–ah yes, a Mr and Mrs Perry. As to the actual owners of the property, the gentleman in question lives abroad and seems to have lost interest in the place. I imagine there was some question of a minor inheriting, and it was administered by executors. Some small legal difficulties arose–the law tends to be expensive, Mrs Beresford–I fancy the owner is quite content for the house to fall down–no repairs are done except to the portion the Perrys inhabit. The actual land, of course, might always prove valuable in the future–the repair of derelict houses is seldom profitable. If you are interested in a property of that kind, I am sure we could offer you something far more worth your while. What, if I may ask, is there which especially appealed to you in this property?’
‘I liked the look of it,’ said Tuppence. ‘It’s a very pretty house–I saw it first from the train–’
‘Oh, I see–’ Mr Sprig masked as best he could an expression of ‘the foolishness of women is incredible’–and said soothingly, ‘I should really forget all about it if I were you.’
‘I suppose you could write and ask the owners if they would be prepared to sell–or if you would give me their–or his address–’
‘We will get into communication with the owners’ solicitors if you insist–but I can’t hold out much hope.’
‘I suppose one always has to go through solicitors for everything nowadays.’ Tuppence sounded both foolish and fretful…‘And lawyers are always so slow over everything.’
‘Ah yes–the law is prolific of delays–’
‘And so are banks–just as bad!’
‘Banks–’ Mr Sprig sounded a little startled.
‘So many people give you a bank as an address. That’s tiresome too.’
‘Yes–yes–as you say–But people are so restless these days and move about so much–living abroad and all that.’ He opened a desk drawer. ‘Now I have a property here, Crossgates–two miles from Market Basing–very good condition–nice garden–’
Tuppence rose to her feet.
‘No thank you.’
She bade Mr Sprig a firm goodbye and went out into the square.
She paid a brief visit to the third establishment which seemed to be mainly preoccupied with sales of cattle, chicken farms and general farms in a derelict condition.
She paid a final visit to Messrs Roberts & Wiley in George Street–which seemed to be a small but pushing business, anxious to oblige–but generally uninterested and ignorant of Sutton Chancellor and anxious to sell residences as yet only half built at what seemed ridiculously exorbitant sums–an illustration of one made Tuppence shudder. The eager young man seeing his possible client firm in departure, admitted unwillingly that such a place as Sutton Chancellor did exist.
‘Sutton Chancellor you mentioned. Better try Blodget & Burgess in the square. They handle some property thereabouts–but it’s all in very poor condition–run down–’
‘There’s a pretty house near there, by a canal bridge –I saw it from the train. Why does nobody want to live there?’
‘Oh! I know the place, this–Riverbank–You wouldn’t get anyone to live in it–Got a reputation as haunted.’
‘You