By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [69]
‘Was it your poor child? Did somebody say that to me or am I saying it to them?’
‘I think I should sleep a little if I were you now, dear,’ said the sister.
She went away and took the information she had obtained to the proper place.
‘She seems to have come to herself, Doctor,’ she remarked, ‘and she says her name is Prudence Cowley. But she doesn’t seem to remember her address. She said something about a child.’
‘Oh well,’ said the doctor, with his usual casual air, ‘we’ll give her another twenty-four hours or so. She’s coming round from the concussion quite nicely.’
II
Tommy fumbled with his latchkey. Before he could use it the door came open and Albert stood in the open aperture.
‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘is she back?’
Albert slowly shook his head.
‘No word from her, no telephone message, no letters waiting–no telegrams?’
‘Nothing I tell you, sir. Nothing whatever. And nothing from anyone else either. They’re lying low–but they’ve got her. That’s what I think. They’ve got her.’
‘What the devil do you mean–they’ve got her?’ said Tommy. ‘The things you read. Who’ve got her?’
‘Well, you know what I mean. The gang.’
‘What gang?’
‘One of those gangs with flick knives maybe. Or an international one.’
‘Stop talking rubbish,’ said Tommy. ‘D’you know what I think?’
Albert looked inquiringly at him.
‘I think it’s extremely inconsiderate of her not to send us word of some kind,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh,’ said Albert, ‘well, I see what you mean. I suppose you could put it that way. If it makes you happier,’ he added rather unfortunately. He removed the parcel from Tommy’s arms. ‘I see you brought that picture back,’ he said.
‘Yes, I’ve brought the bloody picture back,’ said Tommy. ‘A fat lot of use it’s been.’
‘You haven’t learnt anything from it?’
‘That’s not quite true,’ said Tommy. ‘I have learnt something from it but whether what I’ve learnt is going to be any use to me I don’t know.’ He added, ‘Dr Murray didn’t ring up, I suppose, or Miss Packard from Sunny Ridge Nursing Home? Nothing like that?’
‘Nobody’s rung up except the greengrocer to say he’s got some nice aubergines. He knows the missus is fond of aubergines. He always lets her know. But I told him she wasn’t available just now.’ He added, ‘I’ve got a chicken for your dinner.’
‘It’s extraordinary that you can never think of anything but chickens,’ said Tommy, unkindly.
‘It’s what they call a poussin this time,’ said Albert. ‘Skinny,’ he added.
‘It’ll do,’ said Tommy.
The telephone rang. Tommy was out of his seat and had rushed to it in a moment.
‘Hallo…hallo?’
A faint and far-away voice spoke. ‘Mr Thomas Beresford? Can you accept a personal call from Invergashly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hold the line, please.’
Tommy waited. His excitement was calming down. He had to wait some time. Then a voice he knew, crisp and capable, sounded. The voice of his daughter.
‘Hallo, is that you, Pop?’
‘Deborah!’
‘Yes. Why are you sounding so breathless, have you been running?’
Daughters, Tommy thought, were always critical.
‘I wheeze a bit in my old age,’ he said. ‘How are you, Deborah?’
‘Oh, I’m all right. Look here, Dad, I saw something in the paper. Perhaps you’ve seen it too. I wondered about it. Something about someone who had had an accident and was in hospital.’
‘Well? I don’t think I saw anything of that kind. I mean, not to notice it in any way. Why?’
‘Well it–it didn’t sound too bad. I supposed it was a car accident or something like that. It mentioned that the woman, whoever it was–an elderly woman–gave her name as Prudence Cowley but they were unable to find her address.’
‘Prudence Cowley? You mean–’
‘Well yes. I only–well–I only wondered. That is Mother’s name, isn’t it? I mean it was her name.’
‘Of course.’
‘I always forget about the Prudence. I mean we’ve never thought of her as Prudence, you and I, or Derek either.’
‘No,’ said Tommy. ‘No. It’s not the kind of Christian name one would associate much with your mother.’
‘No, I know it isn’t. I just thought it was–rather odd. You don’t think it might be some relation of hers?