Murder on the Links - Agatha Christie [24]
“What do you mean?”
“What I say. Bless the boy, didn’t I tell you I doted on crimes? I’ve been nosing round for hours. It’s a real piece of luck happening on you this way. Come on, show me all the sights.”
“But look here—wait a minute—I can’t. Nobody’s allowed in. They’re awfully strict.”
“Aren’t you and your friends the big bugs?”
I was loath to relinquish my position of importance.
“Why are you so keen?” I asked weakly. “And what is it you want to see?”
“Oh, everything! The place where it happened, and the weapon, and the body, and any fingerprints or interesting things like that. I’ve never had a chance before of being right in on a murder like this. It’ll last me all my life.”
I turned away, sickened. What were women coming to nowadays? The girl’s ghoulish excitement nauseated me.
“Come off your high horse,” said the lady suddenly. “And don’t give yourself airs. When you got called to this job, did you put your nose in the air and say it was a nasty business, and you wouldn’t be mixed-up in it?”
“No, but—”
“If you’d been here on a holiday, wouldn’t you be nosing round just the same as I am? Of course you would.”
“I’m a man. You’re a woman.”
“Your idea of a woman is someone who gets on a chair and shrieks if she sees a mouse. That’s all prehistoric. But you will show me round, won’t you? You see, it might make a big difference to me.”
“In what way?”
“They’re keeping all the reporters out. I might make a big scoop with one of the papers. You don’t know how much they pay for a bit of inside stuff.”
I hesitated. She slipped a small soft hand into mine.
“Please—there’s a dear.”
I capitulated. Secretly, I knew that I should rather enjoy the part of showman.
We repaired first to the spot where the body had been discovered. A man was on guard there, who saluted respectfully, knowing me by sight, and raised no questions as to my companion. Presumably he regarded her as vouched for by me. I explained to Cinderella just how the discovery had been made, and she listened attentively, sometimes putting an intelligent question. Then we turned our steps in the direction of the villa. I proceeded rather cautiously, for, truth to tell, I was not at all anxious to meet anyone. I took the girl through the shrubbery round to the back of the house where the small shed was. I recollected that yesterday evening, after re-locking the door, M. Bex had left the key with the sergent de ville, Marchaud, “In case Monsieur Giraud should require it while we are upstairs.” I thought it quite likely that the Sûreté detective, after using it, had returned it to Marchaud again. Leaving the girl out of sight in the shrubbery, I entered the house. Marchaud was on duty outside the door of the salon. From within came the murmur of voices.
“Monsieur desires Monsieur Hautet? He is within. He is again interrogating Françoise.”
“No,” I said hastily, “I don’t want him. But I should very much like the key of the shed outside if it is not against regulations.”
“But certainly, monsieur.” He produced it. “Here it is. Monsieur Hautet gave orders that all facilities were to be placed at your disposal. You will return it to me when you have finished out there, that is all.”
“Of course.”
I felt a thrill of satisfaction as I realized that in Marchaud’s eyes, at least, I ranked equally in importance with Poirot. The girl was waiting for me. She gave an exclamation of delight as she saw the key in my hand.
“You’ve got it then?”
“Of course,” I said coolly. “All the same, you know, what I’m doing is highly irregular.”
“You’ve been a perfect duck, and I shan’t forget it. Come along. They can’t see us from the house, can they?”
“Wait a minute.” I arrested her eager advance. “I won’t stop you if you really wish to go in. But do you? You’ve seen the grave, and the grounds, and you’ve heard all the details of the affair. Isn’t that enough for you? This is going to be gruesome, you know, and—unpleasant.”
She looked at me for a moment with an expression that I could not quite fathom. Then she laughed.
“Me