Sleeping Murder - Agatha Christie [61]
“I’m sorry, Jackie. I didn’t know. Who are those people and why have they upset you so?”
“They haven’t upset me. I—” He stopped as he saw Gwenda standing in the doorway.
“Oh, Mr. Afflick, did I leave a scarf?”
“Scarf? No, Mrs. Reed, it’s not here.”
“Stupid of me. It must be in the car.”
She went out again.
Giles had turned the car. Drawn up by the kerb was a large yellow limousine resplendent with chromium.
“Some car,” said Giles.
“‘A posh car,’” said Gwenda. “Do you remember, Giles? Edith Pagett when she was telling us what Lily said? Lily had put her money on Captain Erskine, not ‘our mystery man in the flashy car.’ Don’t you see, the mystery man in the flashy car was Jackie Afflick?”
“Yes,” said Giles. “And in her letter to the doctor Lily mentioned a ‘posh car.’”
They looked at each other.
“He was there—‘on the spot,’ as Miss Marple would say—on that night. Oh Giles, I can hardly wait until Thursday to hear what Lily Kimble says.”
“Suppose she gets cold feet and doesn’t turn up after all?”
“Oh, she’ll come. Giles, if that flashy car was there that night—”
“Think it was a yellow peril like this?”
“Admiring my bus?” Mr. Afflick’s genial voice made them jump. He was leaning over the neatly clipped hedge behind them. “Little Buttercup, that’s what I call her. I’ve always liked a nice bit of bodywork. Hits you in the eye, doesn’t she?”
“She certainly does,” said Giles.
“Fond of flowers, I am,” said Mr. Afflick. “Daffodils, buttercups, calceolarias—they’re all my fancy. Here’s your scarf, Mrs. Reed. It had slipped down behind the table. Good-bye. Pleased to have met you.”
“Do you think he heard us calling his car a yellow peril?” asked Gwenda as they drove away.
“Oh, I don’t think so. He seemed quite amiable, didn’t he?”
Giles looked slightly uneasy.
“Ye-es—but I don’t think that means much … Giles, that wife of his—she’s frightened of him, I saw her face.”
“What? That jovial pleasant chap?”
“Perhaps he isn’t so jovial and pleasant underneath … Giles, I don’t think I like Mr. Afflick … I wonder how long he’d been there behind us listening to what we were saying … Just what did we say?”
“Nothing much,” said Giles.
But he still looked uneasy.
Twenty-two
LILY KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT
I
“Well, I’m damned,” exclaimed Giles.
He had just torn open a letter that had arrived by the after-lunch post and was staring in complete astonishment at its contents.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s the report of the handwriting experts.”
Gwenda said eagerly: “And she didn’t write that letter from abroad?”
“That’s just it, Gwenda. She did.”
They stared at each other.
Gwenda said incredulously: “Then those letters weren’t a fake. They were genuine. Helen did go away from the house that night. And she did write from abroad. And she wasn’t strangled at all?”
Giles said slowly: “It seems so. But it really is very upsetting. I don’t understand it. Just as everything seems to be pointing the other way.”
“Perhaps the experts are wrong?”
“I suppose they might be. But they seem quite confident. Gwenda, I really don’t understand a single thing about all this. Have we been making the most colossal idiots of ourselves?”
“All based on my silly behaviour at the theatre? I tell you what, Giles, let’s call round on Miss Marple. We’ll have time before we get to Dr. Kennedy’s at four thirty.”
Miss Marple, however, reacted rather differently from the way they had expected. She said it was very nice indeed.
“But darling Miss Marple,” said Gwenda, “what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, my dear, that somebody hasn’t been as clever as they might have been.”
“But how—in what way?”
“Slipped up,” said Miss Marple, nodding her head with satisfaction.
“But how?”
“Well, dear Mr. Reed, surely you can see how it narrows the field.”
“Accepting the fact that Helen actually wrote the letters—do you mean that she might still have been murdered?”
“I mean that it seemed very important to someone that the letters should actually be in Helen’s handwriting.”
“I see … At least I think I see. There