The Clocks - Agatha Christie [33]
“An interesting lot,” said the inspector solemnly.
He took pity on the eager faces of the boys and picked up the piece of glass.
“I’ll take this. It may just possibly tie up with something.”
Colin had picked up the coin and was examining it.
“It’s not English,” said Ted.
“No,” said Colin. “It’s not English.” He looked across at Hardcastle. “We might perhaps take this, too,” he suggested.
“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” said Hardcastle in a conspiratorial fashion.
The boys promised delightedly that they wouldn’t.
Eleven
“Ramsay,” said Colin, thoughtfully.
“What about him?”
“I like the sound of him, that’s all. He travels abroad—at a moment’s notice. His wife says he’s a construction engineer, but that’s all she seems to know about him.”
“She’s a nice woman,” said Hardcastle.
“Yes—and not a very happy one.”
“Tired, that’s all. Kids are tiring.”
“I think it’s more than that.”
“Surely the sort of person you want wouldn’t be burdened with a wife and two sons,” Hardcastle said sceptically.
“You never know,” said Colin. “You’d be surprised what some of the boys do for camouflage. A hard-up widow with a couple of kids might be willing to come to an arrangement.”
“I shouldn’t have thought she was that kind,” said Hardcastle primly.
“I don’t mean living in sin, my dear fellow. I mean that she’d agree to be Mrs. Ramsay and supply a background. Naturally, he’d spin her a yarn of the right kind. He’d be doing a spot of espionage, say, on our side. All highly patriotic.”
Hardcastle shook his head.
“You live in a strange world, Colin,” he said.
“Yes we do. I think, you know, I’ll have to get out of it one day … One begins to forget what is what and who is who. Half of these people work for both sides and in the end they don’t know themselves which side they are really on. Standards get gummed up—Oh, well—let’s get on with things.”
“We’d better do the McNaughtons,” said Hardcastle, pausing at the gates of 63. “A bit of his garden touches 19—same as Bland.”
“What do you know about the McNaughtons?”
“Not much—they came here about a year ago. Elderly couple—retired professor, I believe. He gardens.”
The front garden had rose bushes in it and a thick bed of autumn crocus under the windows.
A cheerful young woman in a brightly flowered overall opened the door to them and said:
“You want?—Yes?”
Hardcastle murmured, “The foreign help at last,” and handed her his card.
“Police,” said the young woman. She took a step or two back and looked at Hardcastle as though he were the Fiend in person.
“Mrs. McNaughton,” said Hardcastle.
“Mrs. McNaughton is here.”
She led them into the sitting room, which overlooked the back garden. It was empty.
“She up the stairs is,” said the no-longer cheerful young woman. She went out into the hall and called, “Mrs. McNaughton—Mrs. McNaughton.”
A voice far away said, “Yes. What is it, Gretel?”
“It is the police—two police. I put them in sitting room.”
There was a faint scurrying noise upstairs and the words “Oh, dear. Oh, dear, what next?” floated down. Then there was a patter of feet and presently Mrs. McNaughton entered the room with a worried expression on her face. There was, Hardcastle decided quite soon, usually a worried expression on Mrs. McNaughton’s face.
“Oh, dear,” she said again, “oh, dear. Inspector—what is it—Hardcastle—oh, yes.” She looked at the card. “But why do you want to see us? We don’t know anything about it. I mean I suppose it is this murder, isn’t it? I mean, it wouldn’t be the television licence?”
Hardcastle reassured her on that point.
“It all seems so extraordinary, doesn’t it?” said Mrs. McNaughton, brightening up. “And more or less midday, too. Such an odd time to come and burgle a house. Just the time when people are usually at home. But then one does read of such terrible things nowadays. All happening in broad daylight. Why, some friends of ours—they were out for lunch and a furniture van drove up and the men broke in and carried