The Clocks - Agatha Christie [88]
She walked up and down unsteadily, then finally making up her mind, she took an umbrella from the corner and went out again. She walked along to the end of the street, hesitated at a call-box, then went on to a post office. She went in there, asked for change and went into one of the call boxes. She dialled Directory and asked for a number. She stood there waiting till the call came through.
“Go ahead please. Your party is on the line.”
She spoke.
“Hallo … oh, it’s you. Flo here. No, I know you told me not to but I’ve had to. You’ve not been straight with me. You never told me what I was getting into. You just said it would be awkward for you if this man was identified. I didn’t dream for a moment that I would get mixed up in a murder … Well, of course you’d say that, but at any rate it wasn’t what you told me … Yes, I do. I think you are mixed up in it in some way … Well, I’m not going to stand for it, I tell you … There’s something about being an—ac—well, you know the word I mean—accessory, something like that. Though I always thought that was costume jewellery. Anyway, it’s something like being a something after the fact, and I’m frightened, I tell you … telling me to write and tell them that bit about a scar. Now it seems he’d only got that scar a year or two ago and here’s me swearing he had it when he left me years ago … And that’s perjury and I might go to prison for it. Well, it’s no good your trying to talk me round … No … Obliging someone is one thing … Well I know … I know you paid me for it. And not very much either … Well, all right, I’ll listen to you, but I’m not going to … All right, all right, I’ll keep quiet … What did you say? … How much? … That’s a lot of money. How do I know that you’ve got it even … Well, yes, of course it would make a difference. You swear you didn’t have anything to do with it?—I mean with killing anyone … No, well I’m sure you wouldn’t. Of course, I see that … Sometimes you get mixed up with a crowd of people—and they go further than you would and it’s not your fault … You always make things sound so plausible … You always did … Well, all right, I’ll think it over but it’s got to be soon … Tomorrow? What time? … Yes … yes, I’ll come but no cheque. It might bounce … I don’t know really that I ought to go on getting myself mixed up in things even … all right. Well, if you say so … Well, I didn’t mean to be nasty about it … All right then.”
She came out of the post office weaving from side to side of the pavement and smiling to herself.
It was worth risking a little trouble with the police for that amount of money. It would set her up nicely. And it wasn’t very much risk really. She’d only got to say she’d forgotten or couldn’t remember. Lots of women couldn’t remember things that had only happened a year ago. She’d say she got mixed up between Harry and another man. Oh, she could think up lots of things to say.
Mrs. Rival was a naturally mercurial type. Her spirits rose as much now as they had been depressed before. She began to think seriously and intently of the first things she would spend the money on….
Twenty-seven
COLIN LAMB’S NARRATIVE
I
“You don’t seem to have got much out of that Ramsay woman?” complained Colonel Beck.
“There wasn’t much to get.”
“Sure of that?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not an active party?”
“No.”
Beck gave me a searching glance.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“You hoped for more?”
“It doesn’t fill the gap.”
“Well—we’ll have to look elsewhere … give up crescents—eh?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very monosyllabic. Got a hangover?”
“I’m no good at this job,” I said slowly.
“Want me to pat you on the head and say ‘There, there?’”
In spite of myself I laughed.
“That’s better,” said Beck. “Now then, what’s it all about? Girl trouble, I suppose.”
I shook my head. “It’s been coming on for some time.”
“As a matter of fact I’ve noticed it,” said Beck unexpectedly.