Ordeal by Innocence - Agatha Christie [73]
“I thought as much,” said Philip exultantly.
“What do you mean?” said Kirsten. “What are you trying to say?”
“I don’t really know who did it,” said Philip. “But you do. You don’t only think you know who did it, you actually do know. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kirsten marched to the door. She opened it, then turned back and spoke.
“It is not a polite thing to say, but I will say it. You are a fool, Philip. What you are trying to do is dangerous. You understand one kind of danger. You have been a pilot. You have faced death up there in the sky. Can you not see that if you get anywhere near the truth, you are in just as great danger as you ever were in the war?”
“And what about you, Kirsty? If you know the truth, aren’t you in danger too?”
“I can take care of myself,” said Kirsten grimly. “I can be on my guard. But you, Philip, are in an invalid chair and helpless. Think of that! Besides,” she added, “I do not air my views. I am content to let things be—because I honestly think that that is best for everyone. If everyone would go away and attend to their own business, then there would be no further trouble. If I am asked, I have my official view. I say still that it was Jacko.”
“Jacko?” Philip stared.
“Why not? Jacko was clever. Jacko could plan a thing and be sure he would not suffer from the consequences. Often he did that as a child. After all, to fake an alibi. Is that not done every day?”
“He couldn’t have faked this one. Dr. Calgary—”
“Dr. Calgary—Dr. Calgary,” said Kirsten with impatience, “because he is well known, because he has a famous name, you say, ‘Dr. Calgary’ as though he were God! But let me tell you this. When you have had concussion as he had concussion, things may be quite a different day—a different time—a different place!”
Philip looked at her, his head slightly on one side.
“So that’s your story,” he said. “And you’re sticking to it. A very creditable attempt. But you don’t believe it yourself, do you, Kirsty?”
“I’ve warned you,” said Kirsten, “I can’t do more.”
She turned away, then popped her head in again to say in her usual matter-of-fact voice:
“Tell Mary I have put the clean washing away in the second drawer there.”
Philip smiled a little at the anti-climax, then the smile died away….
His sense of inner excitement grew. He had a feeling he was getting very near indeed. His experiment with Kirsten had been highly satisfactory, but he doubted that he would get any more out of her. Her solicitude for him irritated him. Just because he was a cripple did not mean that he was as vulnerable as she made out. He, too, could be on his guard—and for heaven’s sake, wasn’t he watched over incessantly? Mary hardly ever left his side.
He drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write. Brief notes, names, question marks … A vulnerable spot to probe….
Suddenly he nodded his head and wrote: Tina….
He thought about it….
Then he drew another sheet of paper towards him.
When Mary came in, he hardly looked up.
“What are you doing, Philip?”
“Writing a letter.”
“To Hester?”
“Hester? No. I don’t even know where she’s staying. Kirsty just had a postcard from her with London written at the top, that was all.”
He grinned at her.
“I believe you’re jealous, Polly. Are you?”
Her eyes, blue and cold, looked into his.
“Perhaps.”
He felt a little uncomfortable.
“Who are you writing to?” She came a step nearer.
“The Public Prosecutor,” said Philip cheerfully, though within him a cold anger stirred. “Couldn’t a fellow write a letter, even, without being questioned about it?”
Then he saw her face and he relented.
“Only a joke, Polly. I’m writing to Tina.”
“To Tina? Why?”
“Tina’s my next line of attack. Where are you going, Polly?”
“To the bathroom,” said Mary as she went out of the room.
Philip laughed. To the bathroom, as on the night of the murder … He laughed again as he remembered their conversation about it.
II
“Come on, sonny,” said Superintendent Huish encouragingly. “Let’s hear all about it.”
Master Cyril Green took a deep breath. Before he could speak,