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Secret of Chimneys - Agatha Christie [27]

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The bogus telegram! Had it something to do with this? Supposing Elise had not stayed behind? She would have let herself in–that is, presuming she had had her latch-key with her as usual to find herself alone in the house with a murdered man–a man whom she had permitted to blackmail her on a former occasion. Of course she had an explanation of that; but thinking of that explanation she was not quite easy in her mind. She remembered how frankly incredible George had found it. Would other people think the same? Those letters now–of course, she hadn’t written them, but would it be so easy to prove that?

She put her hands on her forehead, squeezing them tight together.

‘I must think,’ said Virginia. ‘I simply must think.’

Who had let the man in? Surely not Elise. If she had done so, she would have been sure to have mentioned the fact at once. The whole thing seemed more and more mysterious as she thought about it. There was really only one thing to be done–ring up the police.

She stretched out her hand to the telephone, and suddenly she thought of George. A man–that was what she wanted–an ordinary level-headed, unemotional man who would see things in their proper proportion and point out to her the best course to take.

Then she shook her head. Not George. The first thing George would think of would be his own position. He would hate being mixed up in this kind of business. George wouldn’t do at all.

Then her face softened. Bill, of course! Without more ado, she rang up Bill.

She was informed that he had left half an hour ago for Chimneys.

‘Oh, damn!’ cried Virginia, jamming down the receiver. It was horrible to be shut up with a dead body and to have no one to speak to.

And at that minute the front-door bell rang.

Virginia jumped. In a few minutes it rang again. Elise, she knew, was upstairs packing and wouldn’t hear it.

Virginia went out in the hall, drew back the chain, and undid all the bolts that Elise had fastened in her zeal. Then, with a long breath, she threw open the door. On the steps was the unemployed young man.

Virginia plunged headlong with a relief born of overstrung nerves.

Come in,’ she said. ‘I think perhaps I’ve got a job for you.’

She took him into the dining-room, pulled forward a chair for him, sat herself facing him, and stared at him very attentively.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but are you–I mean–’

‘Eton and Oxford,’ said the young man. ‘That’s what you wanted to ask me, wasn’t it?’

‘Something of the kind,’ admitted Virginia.

‘Come down in the world entirely through my own incapacity to stick to regular work. This isn’t regular work you’re offering me, I hope?’

A smile hovered for a moment on her lips.

‘It’s very irregular.’

‘Good,’ said the young man in a tone of satisfaction.

Virginia noted his bronzed face and long lean body with approval.

‘You see,’ she explained. ‘I’m in rather a hole, and most of my friends are–well, rather high up. They’ve all got something to lose.’

‘I’ve nothing whatever to lose. So go ahead. What’s the trouble?’

‘There’s a dead man in the next room,’ said Virginia. ‘He’s been murdered, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

She blurted out the words as simply as a child might have done. The young man went up enormously in her estimation by the way he accepted her statement. He might have been used to hearing a similar announcement made every day of his life.

‘Excellent,’ he said, with a trace of enthusiasm. ‘I’ve always wanted to do a bit of amateur detective work. Shall we go and view the body, or will you give me the facts first?’

‘I think I’d better give you the facts.’ She paused for a moment to consider how best to condense her story, and then began speaking quietly and concisely:

‘This man came to the house for the first time yesterday and asked to see me. He had certain letters with him–love letters, signed with my name–’

‘But which weren’t written by you,’ put in the young man quietly.

Virginia looked at him in some astonishment.

‘How did you know that?’

‘Oh, I deduced it. But go on.’

‘He wanted to blackmail me–and I–well, I don’t know if

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