N or M_ - Agatha Christie [46]
Tommy nodded.
‘Quite Biblical,’ he said. ‘David and Goliath.’
‘Oh!’ said Tuppence.
‘What is it, old thing?’
‘I don’t quite know. When you said that something twanged somewhere in my brain, and now it’s gone again!’
‘Very useful,’ said Tommy.
‘Don’t be scathing. That sort of thing does happen sometimes.’
‘Gentlemen who draw a bow at a venture, was that it?’
‘No, it was–wait a minute–I think it was something to do with Solomon.’
‘Cedars, temples, a lot of wives and concubines?’
‘Stop,’ said Tuppence, putting her hands to her ears. ‘You’re making it worse.’
‘Jews?’ said Tommy hopefully. ‘Tribes of Israel?’
But Tuppence shook her head. After a minute or two she said:
‘I wish I could remember who it was that woman reminded me of.’
‘The late Vanda Polonska?’
‘Yes. The first time I saw her, her face seemed vaguely familiar.’
‘Do you think you had come across her somewhere else?’
‘No, I’m sure I hadn’t.’
‘Mrs Perenna and Sheila are a totally different type.’
‘Oh, yes, it wasn’t them. You know, Tommy, about those two. I’ve been thinking.’
‘To any good purpose?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s about that note–the one Mrs Sprot found on the floor in her room when Betty was kidnapped.’
‘Well?’
‘All that about its being wrapped round a stone and thrown through the window is rubbish. It was put there by someone–ready for Mrs Sprot to find–and I think it was Mrs Perenna who put it there.’
‘Mrs Perenna, Carl, Vanda Polonska–all working together.’
‘Yes. Did you notice how Mrs Perenna came in just at the critical moment and clinched things–not to ring up the police? She took command of the whole situation.’
‘So she’s still your selection for M.’
‘Yes, isn’t she yours?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Tommy slowly.
‘Why, Tommy, have you got another idea?’
‘It’s probably an awfully dud one.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No, I’d rather not. I’ve nothing to go on. Nothing whatever. But if I’m right, it’s not M we’re up against, but N.’
He thought to himself.
‘Bletchley. I suppose he’s all right. Why shouldn’t he be? He’s a true enough type–almost too true, and after all, it was he who wanted to ring up the police. Yes, but he could have been pretty sure that the child’s mother couldn’t stand for the idea. The threatening note made sure of that. He could afford to urge the opposite point of view–’
And that brought him back again to the vexing, teasing problem to which as yet he could find no answer.
Why kidnap Betty Sprot?
III
There was a car standing outside Sans Souci bearing the word Police on it.
Absorbed in her own thoughts Tuppence took little notice of that. She turned in at the drive, and entering the front door went straight upstairs to her own room.
She stopped, taken aback, on the threshold, as a tall figure turned away from the window.
‘Dear me,’ said Tuppence. ‘Sheila?’
The girl came straight towards her. Now Tuppence saw her more clearly, saw the blazing eyes deep set in the white tragic face.
Sheila said:
‘I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘What’s the matter?’
The girl’s voice was quiet and devoid of emotion. She said:
‘They have arrested Carl!’
‘The police?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Tuppence. She felt inadequate to the situation. Quiet as Sheila’s voice had been, Tuppence was under no apprehension as to what lay behind it.
Whether they were fellow-conspirators or not, this girl loved Carl von Deinim, and Tuppence felt her heart aching in sympathy with this tragic young creature.
Sheila asked:
‘What shall I do?’
The simple forlorn question made Tuppence wince. She said helplessly:
‘Oh, my dear.’
Sheila said, and her voice was like a mourning harp:
‘They’ve taken him away. I shall never see him again.’
She cried out:
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’ And flinging herself down on her knees by the bed she wept her heart out.
Tuppence stroked the dark head. She said presently, in a weak voice:
‘It–it may not be true. Perhaps they are only going to intern him. After all, he is