Curtain - Agatha Christie [60]
‘All the better.’
‘He’s – he’s just awfully kind.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ I said. ‘Don’t believe it’s all kindness. We men aren’t made that way.’
But Elizabeth Cole had turned suddenly white. She said in a low, strained voice: ‘You’re cruel – blind! How can I ever think of – of marriage? With my history. With my sister a murderess – or if not that, insane. I don’t know which is worse.’
I said strongly: ‘Don’t let that prey on your mind. Remember, it may not be true.’
‘What do you mean? It is true.’
‘Don’t you remember saying to me once, “That wasn’t Maggie”?’
She caught her breath. ‘One feels like that.’
‘What one feels is often – true.’
She stared at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your sister,’ I said, ‘did not kill her father.’
Her hand crept up to her mouth. Her eyes, wide and scared, looked into mine.
‘You’re mad,’ she said. ‘You must be mad. Who told you that?’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘It’s true. Some day I’ll prove it to you.’
III
Near the house I ran into Boyd Carrington.
‘This is my last evening,’ he told me. ‘I move out tomorrow.’
‘To Knatton?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s very exciting for you.’
‘Is it? I suppose it is.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Anyway,
Hastings, I don’t mind telling you, I shall be glad to leave here.’
‘The food is certainly pretty bad and the service isn’t good.’
‘I don’t mean that. After all, it’s cheap, and you can’t expect much from these paying-guest places. No, Hastings, I mean more than discomfort. I don’t like this house – there’s some malign influence about it. Things happen here.’
‘They certainly do.’
‘I don’t know what it is. Perhaps a house that has once had a murder in it is never quite the same afterwards . . . But I don’t like it. First there was that accident to Mrs Luttrell – a damned unlucky thing to happen. And then there was poor little Barbara.’ He paused. ‘The most unlikely person in the world to have committed suicide I should have said.’
I hesitated. ‘Well, I don’t know that I’d go as far as that –’
He interrupted me. ‘Well, I would. Hang it all, I was with her most of the day before. She was in good spirits – enjoyed our outing. The only thing she was worrying about was whether John wasn’t getting too much wrapped up in his experiments and might overdo things, or try some of his messes upon himself. Do you know what I think, Hastings?’
‘No.’
‘That husband of hers is the one who’s responsible for her death. Nagged at her, I expect. She was always happy enough when she was with me. He let her see that she handicapped his precious career (I’d give him a career!) and it broke her up. Damned callous, that fellow, hasn’t turned a hair. Told me as cool as anything he was off to Africa now. Really, you know, Hastings, I shouldn’t be surprised if he’d actually murdered her.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ I said sharply.
‘No – no, I don’t really. Though, mind you, mainly because I can see that if he murdered her, he wouldn’t do it that way. I mean, he was known to be working on this stuff physostigmine, so it stands to reason if he’d done her in, he wouldn’t have used that. But all the same, Hastings, I’m not the only one to think that Franklin’s a suspicious character. I had the tip from someone who ought to know.’
‘Who was that?’ I asked sharply.
Boyd Carrington lowered his voice. ‘Nurse Craven.’
‘What?’ I was intensely surprised.
‘Hush. Don’t shout. Yes, Nurse Craven put the idea into my head. She’s a smart girl, you know, got her wits about her. She doesn’t like Franklin – hasn’t liked him all along.’
I wondered. I should have said that it was her own patient whom Nurse Craven had disliked. It occurred to me suddenly that Nurse Craven must know a good deal about the Franklin ménage.
‘She’s staying here tonight,’ said Boyd Carrington. ‘What?’ I was rather startled. Nurse Craven had left immediately after the funeral.
‘Just for a night between cases,’ explained Boyd Carrington.
‘I see.’
I was vaguely disquieted by Nurse Craven’s return, yet I could hardly have said why. Was there, I wondered, any reason