The Clocks - Agatha Christie [8]
By an indication of his head he drew attention to a small pile of things on a table. Hardcastle went over and looked at them. There was a notecase containing seven pounds ten, a little loose change, a silk pocket handkerchief, unmarked, a small box of digestive pills and a printed card. Hardcastle bent to look at it.
Mr. R. H. Curry,
Metropolis and Provincial Insurance Co. Ltd
7, Denvers Street,
London, W2.
Hardcastle came back to the sofa where Miss Pebmarsh sat.
“Were you by any chance expecting someone from an insurance company to call upon you?”
“Insurance company? No, certainly not.”
“The Metropolis and Provincial Insurance Company,” said Hardcastle.
Miss Pebmarsh shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it,” she said.
“You were not contemplating taking out insurance of any kind?”
“No, I was not. I am insured against fire and burglary with the Jove Insurance Company which has a branch here. I carry no personal insurance. I have no family or near relations so I see no point in insuring my life.”
“I see,” said Hardcastle. “Does the name of Curry mean anything to you? Mr. R. H. Curry?” He was watching her closely. He saw no reaction in her face.
“Curry,” she repeated the name, then shook her head. “It’s not a very usual name, is it? No, I don’t think I’ve heard the name or known anyone of that name. Is that the name of the man who is dead?”
“It would seem possible,” said Hardcastle.
Miss Pebmarsh hesitated a moment. Then she said:
“Do you want me to—to—touch—”
He was quick to understand her.
“Would you, Miss Pebmarsh? If it’s not asking too much of you, that is? I’m not very knowledgeable in these matters, but your fingers will probably tell you more accurately what a person looks like than you would know by description.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Pebmarsh. “I agree it is not a very pleasant thing to have to do but I am quite willing to do it if you think it might be a help to you.”
“Thank you,” said Hardcastle. “If you will let me guide you—”
He took her round the sofa, indicated to her to kneel down, then gently guided her hands to the dead man’s face. She was very calm, displaying no emotion. Her fingers traced the hair, the ears, lingering a moment behind the left ear, the line of the nose, mouth and chin. Then she shook her head and got up.
“I have a clear idea what he would look like,” she said, “but I am quite sure that it is no one I have seen or known.”
The fingerprint man had packed up his kit and gone out of the room. He stuck his head back in.
“They’ve come for him,” he said, indicating the body. “All right to take him away?”
“Right,” said Inspector Hardcastle. “Just come and sit over here, will you, Miss Pebmarsh?”
He established her in a corner chair. Two men came into the room. The removal of the late Mr. Curry was rapid and professional. Hardcastle went out to the gate and then returned to the sitting room. He sat down near Miss Pebmarsh.
“This is an extraordinary business, Miss Pebmarsh,” he said. “I’d like to run over the main points with you and see if I’ve got it right. Correct me if I am wrong. You expected no visitors today, you’ve made no inquiries re insurance of any kind and you have received no letter from anyone stating that a representative of an insurance company was going to call upon you today. Is that correct?”
“Quite correct.”
“You did not need the services of a shorthand typist or stenographer and you did not ring up the Cavendish Bureau or request that one should be here at three o’clock.”
“That again is correct.”
“When you left the house at approximately 1:30, there were in this room only two clocks, the cuckoo clock and the grandfather clock. No others.”
About to reply, Miss Pebmarsh checked herself.
“If I am to be absolutely accurate, I could not swear to that statement. Not having my sight I would not notice the absence or presence of anything not usually in the room. That is to say, the last time I can be sure of the contents of this room was when I dusted it early this morning. Everything then