The Mirror Crack'd - Agatha Christie [61]
‘From that point of view, neither,’ said Dermot Craddock. He handed his card to the young man.
‘How perfectly rapturous,’ said the young man. ‘CID! I believe, you know, I’ve seen pictures of you. Are you one of the Big Four or the Big Five, or is it perhaps the Big Six nowadays? There’s so much crime about, they’d have to increase the numbers, wouldn’t they? Oh dear, is that disrespectful? I’m afraid it is. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful at all. Now, what do you want Margot for — not to arrest her, I hope.’
‘I just wanted to ask her one or two questions.’
‘She doesn’t do indecent photographs or anything like that,’ said the young man anxiously. ‘I hope nobody’s been telling you any stories of that kind because it isn’t true. Margot’s very artistic. She does a lot of stage work and studio work. But her studies are terribly, terribly pure — almost prudish, I’d say.’
‘I can tell you quite simply why I want to speak to Miss Bence,’ said Dermot. ‘She was recently an eye-witness of a crime that took place near Much Benham, at a village called St Mary Mead.’
‘Oh, my dear, of course! I know about that. Margot came back and told me all about it. Hemlock in the cocktails, wasn’t it? Something of that kind. So bleak it sounded! But all mixed up with the St John Ambulance which doesn’t seem so bleak, does it? But haven’t you already asked Margot questions about that — or was it somebody else?’
‘One always finds there are more questions, as the case goes on,’ said Dermot.
‘You mean it develops. Yes, I can quite see that. Murder develops. Yes, like a photograph, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very much like photography really,’ said Dermot. ‘Quite a good comparison of yours.’
‘Well, it’s very nice of you to say so, I’m sure. Now about Margot. Would you like to get hold of her right away?’
‘If you can help me to do so, yes.’
‘Well, at the moment,’ said the young man, consulting his watch, ‘at the moment she’ll be outside Keats’ house at Hampstead Heath. My car’s outside. Shall I run you up there?’
‘That would be very kind of you, Mr —’
‘Jethroe,’ said the young man, ‘Johnny Jethroe.’
As they went down the stairs Dermot asked:
‘Why Keats’ house?’
‘Well, you know we don’t pose fashion photographs in the studio any more. We like them to seem natural, blown about by the wind. And if possible some rather unlikely background. You know, an Ascot frock against Wandsworth Prison, or a frivolous suit outside a poet’s house.’
Mr Jethroe drove rapidly but skilfully up Tottenham Court Road, through Camden Town and finally to the neighbourhood of Hampstead Heath. On the pavement near Keats’ house a pretty little scene was being enacted. A slim girl, wearing diaphanous organdie, was standing clutching an immense black hat. On her knees, a little way behind her, a second girl was holding the first girl’s skirt well pulled back so that it clung around her knees and legs. In a deep hoarse voice a girl with a camera was directing operations.
‘For goodness’ sake, Jane, get your behind down. It’s showing behind her right knee. Get down flatter. That’s it. No, more to the left. That’s right. Now you’re masked by the bush. That’ll do. Hold it. We’ll have one more. Both hands on the back of the hat this time. Head up. Good — now turn round, Elsie. Bend over. More. Bend! Bend, you’ve got to pick up that cigarette case. That’s right. ‘That’s heaven! Got it! Now move over to the left. Same pose, only just turn your head over your shoulder. So.’
‘I can’t see what you want to go taking photographs of my behind for,’ said the girl called Elsie rather sulkily.
‘It’s a lovely behind, dear. It looks smashing,’ said the photographer. ‘And when you turn your head your chin comes up like the rising moon over a mountain. I don’t think we need bother with any more.’
‘Hi — Margot,’ said Mr Jethroe.
She turned her head. ‘Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?’
‘I brought someone along to see you. Chief-Inspector Craddock,