The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [47]
He had decided to take a holiday in Herzoslovakia so as to get right off the beaten track and have a real rest from everyone and everything. The hotel at Lake Stempka, though small, was comfortable and not overcrowded. The few people there were mostly foreigners. So far the only other English people were an elderly woman, Mrs. Rice, and her married daughter, Mrs. Clayton. Harold liked them both. Elsie Clayton was pretty in a rather old-fashioned style. She made up very little, if at all, and was gentle and rather shy. Mrs. Rice was what is called a woman of character. She was tall, with a deep voice and a masterful manner, but she had a sense of humour and was good company. Her life was clearly bound up in that of her daughter.
Harold had spent some pleasant hours in the company of mother and daughter, but they did not attempt to monopolize him and relations remained friendly and unexacting between
them.
The other people in the hotel had not aroused Harold’s notice. Usually they were hikers, or members of a motor-coach tour. They stayed a night or two and then went on. He had hardly noticed any one else—until this afternoon.
They came up the path from the lake very slowly and it just happened that at the moment when Harold’s attention was attracted to them, a cloud came over the sun. He shivered a little.
Then he stared. Surely there was something odd about these two women? They had long, curved noses, like birds, and their faces, which were curiously alike, were quite immobile. Over their shoulders they wore loose cloaks that flapped in the wind like the wings of two big birds.
Harold thought to himself.
“They are like birds—” he added almost without volition, “birds of ill omen.”
The women came straight up on the terrace and passed close by him. They were not young—perhaps nearer fifty than forty, and the resemblance between them was so close that they were obviously sisters. Their expression was forbidding. As they passed Harold the eyes of both of them rested on him for a minute. It was a curious, appraising glance—almost inhuman.
Harold’s impression of evil grew stronger. He noticed the hand of one of the two sisters, a long clawlike hand . . . Although the sun had come out, he shivered once again. He thought:
“Horrible creatures. Like birds of prey. . . .”
He was distracted from these imaginings by the emergence of Mrs. Rice from the hotel. He jumped up and drew forward a chair. With a word of thanks she sat down and, as usual, began to knit vigorously.
Harold asked:
“Did you see those two women who just went into the hotel?”
“With cloaks on? Yes, I passed them.”
“Extraordinary creatures, didn’t you think?”
“Well—yes, perhaps they are rather odd. They only arrived yesterday, I think. Very alike—they must be twins.”
Harold said:
“I may be fanciful, but I distinctly felt there was something evil about them.”
“How curious. I must look at them more closely and see if I agree with you.”
She added: “We’ll find out from the concierge who they are. Not English, I imagine?”
“Oh no.”
Mrs. Rice glanced at her watch. She said:
“Teatime. I wonder if you’d mind going in and ringing the bell, Mr. Waring?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Rice.”
He did so and then as he returned to his seat he asked:
“Where’s your daughter this afternoon?”
“Elsie? We went for a walk together. Part of the way round the lake and then back through the pinewoods. It really was lovely.”
A waiter came out and received orders for tea. Mrs. Rice went on, her needles flying vigorously:
“Elsie had a letter from her husband. She mayn’t come down to tea.”
“Her husband?” Harold was surprised. “Do you know, I always thought she was a widow.”
Mrs. Rice shot him a sharp glance. She said drily:
“Oh no, Elsie