Cards on the Table - Agatha Christie [33]
‘I’m going to leave you my card,’ she said. ‘Here it is, with my address on it. Come and see me when you come up to town, and we’ll talk everything over and see if we can’t think of something ingenious to get to the bottom of things.’
‘I’ll come out to the gate with you,’ said Rhoda.
Just as they were walking down the path to the front gate, Anne Meredith ran out of the house and overtook them.
‘I’ve been thinking things over,’ she said.
Her pale face looked unusually resolute.
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘It’s extraordinarily kind of you, Mrs Oliver, to have taken all this trouble. But I’d really rather not do anything at all. I mean—it was all so horrible. I just want to forget about it.’
‘My dear child, the question is, will you be allowed to forget about it?’
‘Oh, I quite understand that the police won’t let it drop. They’ll probably come here and ask me a lot more questions. I’m prepared for that. But privately, I mean, I don’t want to think about it—or be reminded of it in any way. I dare say I’m a coward, but that’s how I feel about it.’
‘Oh, Anne!’ cried Rhoda Dawes.
‘I can understand your feeling, but I’m not at all sure that you’re wise,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘Left to themselves, the police will probably never find out the truth.’
Anne Meredith shrugged her shoulders.
‘Does that really matter?’
‘Matter?’ cried Rhoda. ‘Of course it matters. It does matter, doesn’t it, Mrs Oliver?’
‘I should certainly say so,’ said Mrs Oliver dryly.
‘I don’t agree,’ said Anne obstinately. ‘Nobody who knows me would ever think I’d done it. I don’t see any reason for interfering. It’s the business of the police to get at the truth.’
‘Oh, Anne, you are spiritless,’ said Rhoda.
‘That’s how I feel, anyway,’ said Anne. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Oliver. It’s very good of you to have bothered.’
‘Of course, if you feel that way, there’s nothing more to be said,’ said Mrs Oliver cheerfully. ‘I, at any rate, shall not let the grass grow under my feet. Goodbye, my dear. Look me up in London if you change your mind.’
She climbed into the car, started it, and drove off, waving a cheerful hand at the two girls.
Rhoda suddenly made a dash after the car and leapt on the running-board.
‘What you said—about looking you up in London,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Did you only mean Anne, or did you mean me, too?’
Mrs Oliver applied the brake.
‘I meant both of you, of course.’
‘Oh, thank you. Don’t stop. I—perhaps I might come one day. There’s something—No, don’t stop. I can jump off.’
She did so and, waving a hand, ran back to the gate, where Anne was standing.
‘What on earth—?’ began Anne.
‘Isn’t she a duck?’ asked Rhoda enthusiastically. ‘I do like her. She had on odd stockings, did you notice? I’m sure she’s frightfully clever. She must be—to write all those books. What fun if she found out the truth when the police and everyone were baffled.’
‘Why did she come here?’ asked Anne.
Rhoda’s eyes opened wide.
‘Darling—she told you—’
Anne made an impatient gesture.
‘We must go in. I forgot. I’ve left him all alone.’
‘Major Despard? Anne, he’s frightfully good-looking, isn’t he?’
‘I suppose he is.’
They walked up the path together.
Major Despard was standing by the mantelpiece, tea-cup in hand.
He cut short Anne’s apologies for leaving him.
‘Miss Meredith, I want to explain why I’ve butted in like this.’
‘Oh—but—’
‘I said that I happened to be passing—that wasn’t strictly true. I came here on purpose.’
‘How did you know my address?’ asked Anne slowly.
‘I got it from Superintendent Battle.’
He saw her shrink slightly at the name.
He went on quickly:
‘Battle’s on his way here now. I happened to see him at Paddington. I got my car out and came down here. I knew I could beat the train easily.’
‘But why?’
Despard hesitated just a minute.
‘I may have been presumptuous—but I