By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [51]
‘There will probably be a letter tomorrow. Delayed in the post–you know what our posts are like–or there will be a wire from her–or she’ll ring up.’
But there was no letter next day–no telephone call–no wire.
Albert eyed Tommy, opened his mouth and shut it again several times, judging quite rightly that gloomy predictions on his part would not be welcomed.
At last Tommy had pity on him. He swallowed a last mouthful of toast and marmalade, washed it down with coffee, and spoke–
‘All right, Albert, I’ll say it first–Where is she? What’s happened to her? And what are we going to do about it?’
‘Get on to the police, sir?’
‘I’m not sure. You see–’ Tommy paused.
‘If she’s had an accident–’
‘She’s got her driving licence on her–and plenty of identifying papers–Hospitals are very prompt at reporting these things–and getting in touch with relatives–all that. I don’t want to be precipitate–she–she mightn’t want it. You’ve no idea–no idea at all, Albert, where she was going–Nothing she said? No particular place–or county. Not a mention of some name?’
Albert shook his head.
‘What was she feeling like? Pleased?–Excited? Unhappy? Worried?’
Albert’s response was immediate.
‘Pleased as Punch–Bursting with it.’
‘Like a terrier off on the trail,’ said Tommy.
‘That’s right, sir–you know how she gets–’
‘On to something–Now I wonder–’ Tommy paused in consideration.
Something had turned up, and, as he had just said to Albert, Tuppence had rushed off like a terrier on the scent. The day before yesterday she had rung up to announce her return. Why, then, hadn’t she returned? Perhaps, at this moment, thought Tommy, she’s sitting somewhere telling lies to people so hard that she can’t think of anything else!
If she were engrossed in pursuit, she would be extremely annoyed if he, Tommy, were to rush off to the police bleating like a sheep that his wife had disappeared–He could hear Tuppence saying ‘How you could be so fatuous as to do such a thing! I can look after myself perfectly. You ought to know that by this time!’ (But could she look after herself?)
One was never quite sure where Tuppence’s imagination could take her.
Into danger? There hadn’t, so far, been any evidence of danger in this business–Except, as aforesaid, in Tuppence’s imagination.
If he were to go to the police, saying his wife had not returned home as she announced she was going to do–The police would sit there, looking tactful though possibly grinning inwardly, and would then presumably, still in a tactful way, ask what men friends his wife had got!
‘I’ll find her myself,’ declared Tommy. ‘She’s somewhere. Whether it’s north, south, east or west I’ve no idea–and she was a silly cuckoo not to leave word when she rang up, where she was.’
‘A gang’s got her, perhaps–’ said Albert.
‘Oh! be your age, Albert, you’ve outgrown that sort of stuff years ago!’
‘What are you going to do, sir?’
‘I’m going to London,’ said Tommy, glancing at the clock. ‘First I’m going to have lunch at my club with Dr Murray who rang me up last night, and who’s got something to say to me about my late deceased aunt’s affairs–I might possibly get a useful hint from him–After all, this business started at Sunny Ridge. I am also taking that picture that’s hanging over our bedroom mantelpiece up with me–’
‘You mean you’re taking it to Scotland Yard?’
‘No,’ said Tommy. ‘I’m taking it to Bond Street.’
Chapter 11
Bond Street and Dr Murray
Tommy jumped out of a taxi, paid the driver and leaned back into the cab to take out a rather clumsily done up parcel which was clearly a picture. Tucking as much of it as he could under his arm, he entered the New Athenian Galleries, one of the longest established and most important picture galleries in London.
Tommy was not a great patron of the