N or M_ - Agatha Christie [20]
‘I don’t like lying any better than you do–’
Tuppence interrupted him.
‘I don’t mind lying in the least. To be quite honest I get a lot of artistic pleasure out of my lies. What gets me down is those moments when one forgets to lie–the times when one is just oneself–and gets results that way that you couldn’t have got any other.’ She paused and went on: ‘That’s what happened to you last night–with the girl. She responded to the real you–that’s why you feel badly about it.’
‘I believe you’re right, Tuppence.’
‘I know. Because I did the same thing myself–with the German boy.’
Tommy said:
‘What do you think about him?’
Tuppence said quickly:
‘If you ask me, I don’t think he’s got anything to do with it.’
‘Grant thinks he has.’
‘Your Mr Grant!’ Tuppence’s mood changed. She chuckled. ‘How I’d like to have seen his face when you told him about me.’
‘At any rate, he’s made the amende honorable. You’re definitely on the job.’
Tuppence nodded, but she looked a trifle abstracted.
She said:
‘Do you remember after the last war–when we were hunting down Mr Brown? Do you remember what fun it was? How excited we were?’
Tommy agreed, his face lighting up.
‘Rather!’
‘Tommy–why isn’t it the same now?’
He considered the question, his quiet ugly face grave. Then he said:
‘I suppose it’s really–a question of age.’
Tuppence said sharply:
‘You don’t think–we’re too old?’
‘No, I’m sure we’re not. It’s only that–this time–it won’t be fun. It’s the same in other ways. This is the second war we’ve been in–and we feel quite different about this one.’
‘I know–we see the pity of it and the waste–and the horror. All the things we were too young to think about before.’
‘That’s it. In the last war I was scared every now and then–and had some pretty close shaves, and went through hell once or twice, but there were good times too.’
Tuppence said:
‘I suppose Derek feels like that?’
‘Better not think about him, old thing,’ Tommy advised.
‘You’re right.’ Tuppence set her teeth. ‘We’ve got a job. We’re going to do that job. Let’s get on with it. Have we found what we’re looking for in Mrs Perenna?’
‘We can at least say that she’s strongly indicated. There’s no one else, is there, Tuppence, that you’ve got your eye on?’
Tuppence considered.
‘No, there isn’t. The first thing I did when I arrived, of course, was to size them all up and assess, as it were, possibilities. Some of them seem quite impossible.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, Miss Minton for instance, the “compleat” British spinster, and Mrs Sprot and her Betty, and the vacuous Mrs Cayley.’
‘Yes, but nitwittishness can be assumed.’
‘Oh, quite, but the fussy spinster and the absorbed young mother are parts that would be fatally easy to overdo–and these people are quite natural. Then, where Mrs Sprot is concerned, there’s the child.’
‘I suppose,’ said Tommy, ‘that even a secret agent might have a child.’
‘Not with her on the job,’ said Tuppence. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you’d bring a child into. I’m quite sure about that, Tommy. I know. You’d keep a child out of it.’
‘I withdraw,’ said Tommy. ‘I’ll give you Mrs Sprot and Miss Minton, but I’m not so sure about Mrs Cayley.’
‘No, she might be a possibility. Because she really does overdo it. I mean there can’t be many women quite as idiotic as she seems.’
‘I have often noticed that being a devoted wife saps the intellect,’ murmured Tommy.
‘And where have you noticed that?’ demanded Tuppence.
‘Not from you, Tuppence. Your devotion has never reached those lengths.’
‘For a man,’ said Tuppence kindly, ‘you don’t really make an undue fuss when you are ill.’
Tommy reverted to a survey of possibilities.
‘Cayley,’ said Tommy thoughtfully. ‘There might be something fishy about Cayley.’
‘Yes, there might. Then there’s Mrs O’Rourke?’
‘What do you feel about her?’
‘I don’t quite know. She’s disturbing. Rather fee fo fum if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I think I know. But I rather fancy that’s just the predatory note. She’s that kind of woman.’
Tuppence said slowly:
‘She–notices things.’
She was remembering