The Moving Finger - Agatha Christie [47]
From the kitchen we went in search of Elsie Holland, who was superintending the children’s lessons. As always, Elsie Holland was competent and obliging. She rose and said:
“Now, Colin, you and Brian will do these three sums and have the answers ready for me when I come back.”
She then led us into the night nursery. “Will this do? I thought it would be better not to talk before the children.”
“Thank you, Miss Holland. Just tell me, once more, are you quite sure that Agnes never mentioned to you being worried over anything—since Mrs. Symmington’s death, I mean?”
“No, she never said anything. She was a very quiet girl, you know, and didn’t talk much.”
“A change from the other one, then!”
“Yes, Rose talks much too much. I have to tell her not to be impertinent sometimes.”
“Now, will you tell me exactly what happened yesterday afternoon? Everything you can remember.”
“Well, we had lunch as usual. One o’clock, and we hurry just a little. I don’t let the boys dawdle. Let me see. Mr. Symmington went back to the office, and I helped Agnes by laying the table for supper—the boys ran out in the garden till I was ready to take them.”
“Where did you go?”
“Towards Combeacre, by the field path—the boys wanted to fish. I forgot their bait and had to go back for it.”
“What time was that?”
“Let me see, we started about twenty to three—or just after. Megan was coming but changed her mind. She was going out on her bicycle. She’s got quite a craze for bicycling.”
“I mean what time was it when you went back for the bait? Did you go into the house?”
“No. I’d left it in the conservatory at the back. I don’t know what time it was then—about ten minutes to three, perhaps.”
“Did you see Megan or Agnes?”
“Megan must have started, I think. No, I didn’t see Agnes. I didn’t see anyone.”
“And after that you went fishing?”
“Yes, we went along by the stream. We didn’t catch anything. We hardly ever do, but the boys enjoy it. Brian got rather wet. I had to change his things when we got in.”
“You attend to tea on Wednesdays?”
“Yes. It’s all ready in the drawing room for Mr. Symmington. I just make the tea when he comes in. The children and I have ours in the schoolroom—and Megan, of course. I have my own tea things and everything in the cupboard up there.”
“What time did you get in?”
“At ten minutes to five. I took the boys up and started to lay tea. Then when Mr. Symmington came in at five I went down to make his but he said he would have it with us in the schoolroom. The boys were so pleased. We played Animal Grab afterwards. It seems so awful to think of now—with that poor girl in the cupboard all the time.”
“Would anybody go to that cupboard normally?”
“Oh no, it’s only used for keeping junk. The hats and coats hang in the little cloakroom to the right of the front door as you come in. No one might have gone to the other cupboard for months.”
“I see. And you noticed nothing unusual, nothing abnormal at all when you came back?”
The blue eyes opened very wide.
“Oh no, inspector, nothing at all. Everything was just the same as usual. That’s what was so awful about it.”
“And the week before?”
“You mean the day Mrs. Symmington—”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that was terrible—terrible!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You were out all that afternoon also?”
“Oh yes, I always take the boys out in the afternoon—if it’s fine enough. We do lessons in the morning. We went up on the moor, I remember—quite a long way. I was afraid I was late back because as I turned in at the gate I saw Mr. Symmington coming from his office at the other end of the road, and I hadn’t even put the kettle on, but it was just ten minutes to five.”
“You didn’t go up to Mrs. Symmington?”
“Oh no. I never did. She always rested after lunch. She had attacks of neuralgia—and they used to come on after meals. Dr. Griffith had given her some cachets to take. She used to lie down and try to sleep.”
Nash said in a casual voice:
“So no one would take her up the post?”
“The afternoon post? No, I