N or M_ - Agatha Christie [54]
‘She’s not been doing accounts all evening,’ said Mrs Sprot, ‘because she came in just now when I was telephoning in the hall.’
‘I wonder where she’d been,’ said Miss Minton, whose life was taken up with such small wonderments. ‘Not to the pictures, they wouldn’t be out yet.’
‘She hadn’t got a hat on,’ said Mrs Sprot. ‘Nor a coat. Her hair was all anyhow and I think she’d been running or something. Quite out of breath. She ran upstairs without a word and she glared–positively glared at me–and I’m sure I hadn’t done anything.’
Mrs Cayley reappeared at the window.
‘Fancy,’ she said. ‘Mr Cayley has walked all round the garden by himself. He quite enjoyed it, he said. Such a mild night.’
She sat down again.
‘Let me see–oh, do you think we could have the bidding over again?’
Tuppence suppressed a rebellious sigh. They had the bidding all over again and she was left to play Three Spades.
Mrs Perenna came in just as they were cutting for the next deal.
‘Did you enjoy your walk?’ asked Miss Minton.
Mrs Perenna stared at her. It was a fierce and unpleasant stare. She said:
‘I’ve not been out.’
‘Oh–oh–I thought Mrs Sprot said you’d come in just now.’
Mrs Perenna said:
‘I just went outside to look at the weather.’
Her tone was disagreeable. She threw a hostile glance at the meek Mrs Sprot, who flushed and looked frightened.
‘Just fancy,’ said Mrs Cayley, contributing her item of news. ‘Mr Cayley walked all round the garden.’
Mrs Perenna said sharply:
‘Why did he do that?’
Mrs Cayley said:
‘It is such a mild night. He hasn’t even put on his second muffler and he still doesn’t want to come in. I do hope he won’t get a chill.’
Mrs Perenna said:
‘There are worse things than chills. A bomb might come any minute and blow us all to bits!’
‘Oh, dear, I hope it won’t.’
‘Do you? I rather wish it would.’
Mrs Perenna went out of the window. The four bridge players stared after her.
‘She seems very odd tonight,’ said Mrs Sprot.
Miss Minton leaned forward.
‘You don’t think, do you–’ She looked from side to side. They all leaned nearer together. Miss Minton said in a sibilant whisper:
‘You don’t suspect, do you, that she drinks?’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs Cayley. ‘I wonder now? That would explain it. She really is so–so unaccountable sometimes. What do you think, Mrs Blenkensop?’
‘Oh, I don’t really think so. I think she’s worried about something. Er–it’s your call, Mrs Sprot.’
‘Dear me, what shall I say?’ asked Mrs Sprot, surveying her hand.
Nobody volunteered to tell her, though Miss Minton, who had been gazing with unabashed interest into her hand, might have been in a position to advise.
‘That isn’t Betty, is it?’ demanded Mrs Sprot, her head upraised.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Tuppence firmly.
‘She felt that she might scream unless they could get on with the game.
Mrs Sprot looked at her hand vaguely, her mind still apparently maternal. Then she said:
‘Oh, One Diamond, I think.’
The call went round. Mrs Cayley led.
‘When in doubt lead a Trump, they say,’ she twittered, and laid down the Nine of Diamonds.
A deep genial voice said:
‘’Tis the curse of Scotland that you’ve played there!’
Mrs O’Rourke stood in the window. She was breathing deeply–her eyes were sparkling. She looked sly and malicious. She advanced into the room.
‘Just a nice quiet game of bridge, is it?’
‘What’s that in your hand?’ asked Mrs Sprot, with interest.
‘’Tis a hammer,’ said Mrs O’Rourke amiably. ‘I found it lying in the drive. No doubt someone left it there.’
‘It’s a funny place to leave a hammer,’ said Mrs Sprot doubtfully.
‘It is that,’ agreed Mrs O’Rourke.
She seemed in a particularly good humour. Swinging the hammer by its handle she went out into the hall.
‘Let me see,’ said Miss Minton. ‘What’s trumps?’
The game proceeded for five minutes without further interruption, and then Major Bletchley came in. He had been to the pictures and proceeded to tell them in detail the plot of Wandering Minstrel, laid in the reign of Richard the First.