Sleeping Murder - Agatha Christie [58]
yours respectfully,
Lily Kimble.
“It was addressed to my old house in Dillmouth,” said Kennedy, “and forwarded on to me here. The cutting is your advertisement.”
“It’s wonderful,” said Gwenda. “This Lily—you see—she doesn’t think it was my father who did it!”
She spoke with jubilation. Dr. Kennedy looked at her with tired, kindly eyes.
“Good for you, Gwennie,” he said gently. “I hope you’re right. Now this is what I think we’d better do. I’ll answer her letter and tell her to come here on Thursday. The train connection is quite good. By changing at Dillmouth Junction she can get here shortly after 4.30. If you two will come over that afternoon, we can tackle her all together.”
“Splendid,” said Giles. He glanced at his watch. “Come on, Gwenda, we must hurry. We’ve got an appointment,” he explained. “With Mr. Afflick of the Daffodil Coaches, and, so he told us, he’s a busy man.”
“Afflick?” Kennedy frowned. “Of course! Devon Tours in Daffodil Coaches, horrible great butter-coloured brutes. But the name seemed familiar in some other way.”
“Helen,” said Gwenda.
“My goodness—not that chap?”
“Yes.”
“But he was a miserable little rat. So he’s come up in the world?”
“Will you tell me something, sir?” said Giles. “You broke up some funny business between him and Helen. Was that simply because of his—well, social position?”
Dr. Kennedy gave him a dry glance.
“I’m old-fashioned, young man. In the modern gospel, one man is as good as another. That holds morally, no doubt. But I’m a believer in the fact that there is a state of life into which you are born—and I believe you’re happiest staying in it. Besides,” he added, “I thought the fellow was a wrong ’un. As he proved to be.”
“What did he do exactly?”
“That I can’t remember now. It was a case, as far as I can recall, of his trying to cash in on some information obtained through his employment with Fane. Some confidential matter relating to one of their clients.”
“Was he—sore about his dismissal?”
Kennedy gave him a sharp glance and said briefly: “Yes.”
“And there wasn’t any other reason at all for your disliking his friendship with your sister? You didn’t think he was—well—odd in any way.”
“Since you have brought the matter up, I will answer you frankly. It seemed to me, especially after his dismissal from his employment, that Jackie Afflick displayed certain signs of an unbalanced temperament. Incipient persecution mania, in fact. But that does not seem to have been borne out by his subsequent rise in life.”
“Who dismissed him? Walter Fane?”
“I have no idea if Walter Fane was concerned. He was dismissed by the firm.”
“And he complained that he had been victimized?”
Kennedy nodded.
“I see … Well, we must drive like the wind. Till Thursday, sir.”
II
The house was newly built. It was of Snowcrete, heavily curved, with a big expanse of window. They were shown in through an opulent hall to a study, half of which was taken up by a big chromium-plated desk.
Gwenda murmured nervously to Giles, “Really, I don’t know what we should have done without Miss Marple. We lean upon her at every turn. First her friends in Northumberland and now her Vicar’s wife’s Boys’ Club Annual Outing.”
Giles raised an admonitory hand as the door opened and J. J. Afflick surged into the room.
He was a stout man of middle age, dressed in a rather violently checked suit. His eyes were dark and shrewd, his face rubicund and good-natured. He looked like the popular idea of a successful bookmaker.
“Mr. Reed? Good morning. Pleased to meet you.”
Giles introduced Gwenda. She felt her hand taken in a rather over-zealous grip.
“And what can I do for you, Mr. Reed?”
Afflick sat down behind his huge desk. He offered cigarettes from an onyx box.
Giles entered upon the subject of the Boys’ Club Outing. Old friends of his ran the show. He was anxious to arrange for a couple of days’ touring in Devon.
Afflick replied promptly in a businesslike manner—quoting prices and making suggestions. But there was a faintly puzzled