Listerdale Mystery - Agatha Christie [35]
‘Oh, he’s been a bad one always. I gave him all the money I could. He’s been in gaol twice. He must have come around to see me, and then Miss Crabtree, seeing as I didn’t answer the door, went to answer it herself, and he was taken aback and pulled out one of those unemployment leaflets, and the mistress being kind of charitable, told him to come in and got out a sixpence. And all the time that roll of notes was lying on the table where it had been when I was giving her the change. And the devil got into my Ben and he got behind her and struck her down.’
‘And then?’ asked Sir Edward.
‘Oh, sir, what could I do? My own flesh and blood. His father was a bad one, and Ben takes after him–but he was my own son. I hustled him out, and I went back to the kitchen and I went to lay for supper at the usual time. Do you think it was very wicked of me, sir? I tried to tell you no lies when you was asking me questions.’
Sir Edward rose.
‘My poor woman,’ he said with feeling in his voice, ‘I am very sorry for you. All the same, the law will have to take its course, you know.’
‘He’s fled the country, sir. I don’t know where he is.’
‘There’s a chance, then, that he may escape the gallows, but don’t build upon it. Will you send Miss Magdalen to me.’
‘Oh, Sir Edward. How wonderful of you–how wonderful you are,’ said Magdalen when he had finished his brief recital. ‘You’ve saved us all. How can I ever thank you?’
Sir Edward smiled down at her and patted her hand gently. He was very much the great man. Little Magdalen had been very charming on the Siluric. That bloom of seventeen–wonderful! She had completely lost it now, of course.
‘Next time you need a friend–’ he said.
‘I’ll come straight to you.’
‘No, no,’ cried Sir Edward in alarm. ‘That’s just what I don’t want you to do. Go to a younger man.’
He extricated himself with dexterity from the grateful household and hailing a taxi sank into it with a sigh of relief.
Even the charm of a dewy seventeen seemed doubtful.
It could not really compare with a really well-stocked library on criminology.
The taxi turned into Queen Anne’s Close.
His cul-de-sac.
The Manhood of Edward Robinson
I
‘With a swing of his mighty arms, Bill lifted her right off her feet, crushing her to his breast. With a deep sigh she yielded her lips in such a kiss as he had never dreamed of–’
With a sigh, Mr Edward Robinson put down When Love is King and stared out of the window of the underground train. They were running through Stamford Brook. Edward Robinson was thinking about Bill. Bill was the real hundred per cent he-man beloved of lady novelists. Edward envied him his muscles, his rugged good looks and his terrific passions. He picked up the book again and read the description of the proud Marchesa Bianca (she who had yielded her lips). So ravishing was her beauty, the intoxication of her was so great, that strong men went down before her like ninepins, faint and helpless with love.
‘Of course,’ said Edward to himself, ‘it’s all bosh, this sort of stuff. All bosh, it is. And yet, I wonder–’
His eyes looked wistful. Was there such a thing as a world of romance and adventure somewhere? Were there women whose beauty intoxicated? Was there such a thing as love that devoured one like a flame?
‘This is real life, this is,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve got to go on the same just like all the other chaps.’
On the whole, he supposed, he ought to consider himself a lucky young man. He had an excellent berth–a clerkship in a flourishing concern. He had good health, no one dependent upon him, and he was engaged to Maud.
But the mere thought of Maud brought a shadow over his face. Though he would never have admitted it, he was afraid of Maud. He loved her–yes–he still remembered the thrill with which he had admired the back of her white neck rising out of the cheap four and elevenpenny blouse on the first occasion they had met. He had