Postern of Fate (Tommy and Tuppence Series) - Agatha Christie [7]
‘That also, maybe,’ said Tommy, ‘but I could give you another list.’
‘I don’t feel I should like that,’ said Tuppence. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think you have several saved-up grievances. But don’t worry. Everything will be quite all right. You’ve only got to come back and call me when you get in.’
But now where was Tuppence?
‘The little devil,’ said Tommy. ‘She’s gone out somewhere.’
He went on into the room upstairs where he had found her before. Looking at another child’s book, he supposed. Getting excited again about some silly words that a silly child had underlined in red ink. On the trail of Mary Jordan, whoever she was. Mary Jordan, who hadn’t died a natural death. He couldn’t help wondering. A long time ago, presumably, the people who’d had the house and sold it to them had been named Jones. They hadn’t been there very long, only three or four years. No, this child of the Robert Louis Stevenson book dated from further back than that. Anyway, Tuppence wasn’t here in this room. There seemed to be no loose books lying about with signs of having had interest shown in them.
‘Ah, where the hell can she be?’ said Thomas.
He went downstairs again, shouting once or twice. There was no answer. He examined one of the pegs in the hall. No signs of Tuppence’s mackintosh. Then she’d gone out. Where had she gone? And where was Hannibal? Tommy varied the use of his vocal cords and called out for Hannibal.
‘Hannibal–Hannibal–Hanny-boy. Come on, Hannibal.’
No Hannibal.
Well, at any rate, she’s got Hannibal with her, thought Tommy.
He didn’t know if it was worse or better that Tuppence should have Hannibal. Hannibal would certainly allow no harm to come to Tuppence. The question was, might Hannibal do some damage to other people? He was friendly when taken visiting people, but people who wished to visit Hannibal, to enter any house in which he lived, were always definitely suspect in Hannibal’s mind. He was ready at all risks to both bark and bite if he considered it necessary. Anyway, where was everybody?
He walked a little way along the street, could see no signs of any small black dog with a medium-sized woman in a bright red mackintosh walking in the distance. Finally, rather angrily, he came back to the house.
Rather an appetizing smell met him. He went quickly to the kitchen, where Tuppence turned from the stove and gave him a smile of welcome.
‘You’re ever so late,’ she said. ‘This is a casserole. Smells rather good, don’t you think? I put some rather unusual things in it this time. There were some herbs in the garden, at least I hope they were herbs.’
‘If they weren’t herbs,’ said Tommy, ‘I suppose they were Deadly Nightshade, or Digitalis leaves pretending to be something else but really foxglove. Where on earth have you been?’
‘I took Hannibal for a walk.’
Hannibal, at this moment, made his own presence felt. He rushed at Tommy and gave him such a rapturous welcome as nearly to fell him to the ground. Hannibal was a small black dog, very glossy, with interesting tan patches on his behind and each side of his cheeks. He was a Manchester terrier of very pure pedigree and he considered himself to be on a much higher level of sophistication and aristocracy than any other dog he met.
‘Oh, good gracious. I took a look round. Where’ve you been? It wasn’t very nice weather.’
‘No, it wasn’t. It was very sort of foggy and misty. Ah–I’m quite tired, too.’
‘Where did you go? Just down the street for the shops?’
‘No, it’s early closing day for the shops. No…Oh no, I went to the cemetery.’
‘Sounds gloomy,’ said Tommy. ‘What did you want to go to the cemetery for?’
‘I went to look at some of the graves.’
‘It still sounds rather gloomy,’ said Tommy. ‘Did Hannibal enjoy himself?’
‘Well, I had to put Hannibal on the lead. There was something that looked like a verger who kept coming out of the church and I thought he wouldn’t like Hannibal because–well, you never know, Hannibal mightn’t like him and I didn’t want to prejudice people against