The Pale Horse - Agatha Christie [56]
I said of course I remembered Miss Grey.
“An amazing woman. Really an amazing woman. Most gifted. She’ll want something your wife has worn—a glove—handkerchief—anything like that—”
“But why? In the name of—”
“I know, I know. Don’t ask me why. I’ve not the least idea. Miss Grey keeps her secrets to herself.”
“But what happens? What does she do?”
“You really must believe me, Mr. Easterbrook, when I tell you that honestly I haven’t the least idea! I don’t know—and what is more, I don’t want to know—let’s leave it at that.”
He paused, and then went on in an almost fatherly tone.
“My advice is as follows, Mr. Easterbrook. Pay a visit to your wife. Soothe her down, let her think that you’re coming round to the idea of a reconciliation. I should suggest that you have to go abroad for a few weeks, but that on your return etc., etc….”
“And then?”
“Having purloined a trifle of daily wear in an unobtrusive manner, you will go down to Much Deeping.” He paused thoughtfully. “Let me see. I think you mentioned on your previous visit that you had friends—relations—in the neighbourhood?”
“A cousin.”
“That makes it very simple. This cousin will doubtless put you up for a day or so.”
“What do most people do? Stay at the local inn?”
“Sometimes, I believe—or they motor over from Bournemouth. Something of that kind—but I know very little about the matter.”
“What—er—is my cousin likely to think?”
“You express yourself as intrigued by the inhabitants of the Pale Horse. You want to participate in a séance there. Nothing can sound simpler. Miss Grey and her medium friend often indulge in séances. You know what spiritualists are. You go protesting that of course it’s nonsense, but that it will interest you. That is all, Mr. Easterbrook. As you see, nothing can be simpler—”
“And—and, after that?”
He shook his head smiling.
“That’s all I can tell you. All, in fact, that I know. Miss Thyrza Grey will then be in charge. Don’t forget to take the glove, or handkerchief, or whatever it is with you. Afterwards, I would suggest that you take a little trip abroad. The Italian Riviera is very pleasant at this time of year. Just for a week or two, say.”
I said that I didn’t want to go abroad. I said I wanted to stay in England.
“Very well, then, but definitely not London. No, I must strongly advise, not London.”
“Why not?”
Mr. Bradley looked at me reprovingly.
“Clients are guaranteed complete—er—safety,” he said. “If they obey orders.”
“What about Bournemouth? Would Bournemouth do?”
“Yes, Bournemouth would be adequate. Stay at a hotel, make a few acquaintances, be seen in their company. The blameless life—that is what we aim at. You can always go on to Torquay if you get tired of Bournemouth.”
He spoke with the affability of a travel agent.
Once again I had to shake his podgy hand.
Seventeen
Mark Easterbrook’s Narrative
I
“Are you really going to a séance at Thyrza’s?” Rhoda demanded.
“Why not?”
“I never knew you were interested in that sort of thing, Mark.”
“I’m not really,” I said truthfully. “But it’s such a queer setup, those three. I’m curious to see what sort of a show they put on.”
I did not find it really easy to put on a light manner. Out of the tail of my eye, I saw Hugh Despard looking at me thoughtfully. He was a shrewd man, with an adventurous life behind him. One of those men who have a kind of sixth sense where danger is concerned. I think he scented its presence now—realised that something more important than idle curiosity was at stake.
“Then I shall come with you,” said Rhoda gleefully. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Rhoda,” growled Despard.
“But I don’t really believe in spirits and all that, Hugh. You know I don’t. I just want to go for the fun of it!”
“That sort of business isn’t fun,” said Despard. “There may be something genuine to it, there probably is. But it doesn’t have a good effect on people who go out of ‘idle curiosity.’”
“Then you ought to dissuade Mark, too.”
“Mark’s not my responsibility,