The Pale Horse - Agatha Christie [17]
“I devoutly hope not. I’ve a feeling that it’s unlucky to have your name on that list.”
“Maybe. What made you think of blackmail in connection with it?”
“It was Detective-Inspector Lejeune’s suggestion if I remember rightly. It seemed the most likely possibility—But there are plenty of others. This may be a list of dope smugglers or drug addicts or secret agents—it may be anything in fact. There’s only one thing sure, it was important enough for murder to be committed in order to get hold of it.”
I asked curiously: “Do you always take such an interest in the police side of your work?”
He shook his head.
“Can’t say I do. My interest is in criminal character. Background, upbringing, and particularly glandular health—all that!”
“Then why the interest in this list of names?”
“Blessed if I know,” said Corrigan slowly. “Seeing my own name on the list, perhaps. Up the Corrigans! One Corrigan to the rescue of another Corrigan.”
“Rescue? Then you definitely see this as a list of victims—not a list of malefactors. But surely it could be either?”
“You’re entirely right. And it’s certainly odd that I should be so positive. Perhaps it’s just a feeling. Or perhaps it’s something to do with Father Gorman. I didn’t come across him very often, but he was a fine man, respected by everyone and loved by his own flock. He was the good tough militant kind. I can’t get it out of my head that he considered this list a matter of life or death….”
“Aren’t the police getting anywhere?”
“Oh yes, but it’s a long business. Checking here, checking there. Checking the antecedents of the woman who called him out that night.”
“Who was she?”
“No mystery about her, apparently. Widow. We had an idea that her husband might have been connected with horse racing, but that doesn’t seem to be so. She worked for a small commercial firm that does consumer research. Nothing wrong there. They are a reputable firm in a small way. They don’t know much about her. She came from the north of England—Lancashire. The only odd thing about her is that she had so few personal possessions.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I expect that’s true for a lot more people than we ever imagine. It’s a lonely world.”
“Yes, as you say.”
“Anyway, you decided to take a hand?”
“Just nosing around. Hesketh-Dubois is an uncommon name. I thought if I could find out a little about the lady—” He left the sentence unfinished. “But from what you tell me, there doesn’t seem to be any possible lead there.”
“Neither a dope addict nor a dope smuggler,” I assured him. “Certainly not a secret agent. Has led far too blameless a life to have been blackmailed. I can’t imagine what kind of a list she could possibly be on. Her jewellery she keeps at the bank so she wouldn’t be a hopeful prospect for robbery.”
“Any other Hesketh-Duboises that you know about? Sons?”
“No children. She’s got a nephew and a niece, I think, but not of that name. Her husband was an only child.”
Corrigan told me sourly that I’d been a lot of help. He looked at his watch, remarked cheerfully that he was due to cut somebody up, and we parted.
I went home thoughtful, found it impossible to concentrate on my work, and finally, on an impulse, rang up David Ardingly.
“David? Mark here. That girl I met with you the other evening. Poppy. What’s her other name?”
“Going to pinch my girl, is that it?”
David sounded highly amused.
“You’ve got so many of them,” I retorted. “You could surely spare one.”
“You’ve got a heavyweight of your own, old boy. I thought you were going steady with her.”
“Going steady.” A repulsive term. And yet, I thought, struck suddenly with its aptitude, how well it described my relationship with Hermia. And why should it make me feel depressed? I had always felt in the back of my mind that someday Hermia and I would marry… I liked her better than anyone I knew. We had so much in common….
For no conceivable reason, I felt a terrible desire to yawn… Our future stretched out before me. Hermia and I going to plays of significance—that mattered. Discussions