Sleeping Murder - Agatha Christie [70]
“How strange,” said Gwenda. “What time?”
“It must have been about four o’clock or just after. And then, after that, there was another gentleman, came in a great big yellow car. He was positive you were expecting him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Waited twenty minutes. I wondered if you’d had some idea of a tea party and forgotten it.”
“No,” said Gwenda. “How odd.”
“Let’s ring up Fane now,” said Giles. “He won’t have gone to bed.”
He suited the action to the word.
“Hullo, is that Fane speaking? Giles Reed here. I hear you came round to see us this afternoon—What?—No—no, I’m sure of it—no, how very odd. Yes, I wonder, too.”
He laid down the receiver.
“Here’s an odd thing. He was rung up in his office this morning. A message left would he come round and see us this afternoon. It was very important.”
Giles and Gwenda stared at each other. Then Gwenda said, “Ring up Afflick.”
Again Giles went to the telephone, found the number and rang through. It took a little longer, but presently he got the connection.
“Mr. Afflick? Giles Reed, I—”
Here he was obviously interrupted by a flow of speech from the other end.
At last he was able to say:
“But we didn’t—no, I assure you—nothing of the kind—Yes—yes, I know you’re a busy man. I wouldn’t have dreamed of—Yes, but look here, who was it rang you—a man?—No, I tell you it wasn’t me. No—no, I see. Well, I agree, it’s quite extraordinary.”
He replaced the receiver and came back to the table.
“Well, there it is,” he said. “Somebody, a man who said he was me, rang up Afflick and asked him to come over here. It was urgent—big sum of money involved.”
They looked at each other.
“It could have been either of them,” said Gwenda. “Don’t you see, Giles? Either of them could have killed Lily and come on here as an alibi.”
“Hardly an alibi, dear,” put in Miss Marple.
“I don’t mean quite an alibi, but an excuse for being away from their office. What I mean is, one of them is speaking the truth and one is lying. One of them rang up the other and asked him to come here—to throw suspicion on him—but we don’t know which. It’s a clear issue now between the two of them. Fane or Afflick. I say—Jackie Afflick.”
“I think Walter Fane,” said Giles.
They both looked at Miss Marple.
She shook her head.
“There’s another possibility,” she said.
“Of course. Erskine.”
Giles fairly ran across to the telephone.
“What are you going to do?” asked Gwenda.
“Put through a trunk call to Northumberland.”
“Oh Giles—you can’t really think—”
“We’ve got to know. If he’s there—he can’t have killed Lily Kimble this afternoon. No private aeroplanes or silly stuff like that.”
They waited in silence until the telephone bell rang.
Giles picked up the receiver.
“You were asking for a personal call to Major Erskine. Go ahead, please. Major Erskine is waiting.”
Clearing his throat nervously, Giles said, “Er—Erskine? Giles Reed here—Reed, yes.”
He cast a sudden agonized glance at Gwenda which said as plainly as possible, “What the hell do I say now?”
Gwenda got up and took the receiver from him.
“Major Erskine? This is Mrs. Reed here. We’ve heard of—of a house. Linscott Brake. Is—is it—do you know anything about it? It’s somewhere near you, I believe.”
Erskine’s voice said: “Linscott Brake? No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it. What’s the postal town?”
“It’s terribly blurred,” said Gwenda. “You know those awful typescripts agents send out. But it says fifteen miles from Daith so we thought—”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t heard of it. Who lives there?”
“Oh, it’s empty. But never mind, actually we’ve—we’ve practically settled on a house. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I expect you were busy.”
“No, not at all. At least only busy domestically. My wife’s away. And our cook had to go off to her mother, so I’ve been dealing with domestic routine. I’m afraid I’m not much of a hand at it. Better in the garden.”
“I’d always rather do gardening than housework. I