The Pale Horse - Agatha Christie [75]
I outlined to him Osborne’s theory of impersonation.
“That man’s got a bee in his bonnet,” said Corrigan. “He’s the kind of man who has always got to be right.”
“But Corrigan, tell me, couldn’t it be as he said? It’s possible, isn’t it?”
After a moment or two Corrigan said slowly,
“Yes. I have to admit it’s possible… But several people would have to be in the know—and would have to be paid very heavily for holding their tongues.”
“What of that? He’s rolling in money, isn’t he? Has Lejeune found out yet how he’s made all that money?”
“No. Not exactly… I’ll admit this to you. There’s something wrong about the fellow. He’s got a past of some kind. The money’s all very cleverly accounted for, in a lot of ways. It isn’t possible to check up on it all without an investigation which might take years. The police have had to do that before—when they’ve been up against a financial crook who has covered his traces by a web of infinite complexity. I believe the Inland Revenue has been smelling around Venables for some time. But he’s clever. What do you see him as—the head of the show?”
“Yes. I do. I think he’s the man who plans it all.”
“Perhaps. He sounds as though he’d have the kind of brains for that, I agree. But surely he wouldn’t have done anything so crude as killing Father Gorman himself!”
“He might have if there was sufficient urgency. Father Gorman might have had to be silenced before he could pass on what he had learnt from that woman about the activities of the Pale Horse. Besides—”
I stopped short.
“Hallo—you still there?”
“Yes, I was thinking… Just an idea that occurred to me…”
“What was it?”
“I’ve not got it clear yet… Just that real safety could only be achieved one way. I haven’t worked it out yet…Anyway, I must go now. I’ve got a rendezvous at a coffee bar.”
“Didn’t know you were in the Chelsea coffee bar set!”
“I’m not. My coffee bar is in Tottenham Court Road, as a matter of fact.”
I rang off and glanced at the clock.
I started for the door when the telephone rang.
I hesitated. Ten to one, it was Jim Corrigan again, ringing back to know more about my idea.
I didn’t want to talk to Jim Corrigan just now.
I moved towards the door whilst the telephone rang on persistently, naggingly.
Of course, it might be the hospital— Ginger—
I couldn’t risk that. I strode across impatiently and jerked the receiver off its hook.
“Hallo?”
“Is that you, Mark?”
“Yes, who is it?”
“It’s me, of course,” said the voice reproachfully. “Listen, I want to tell you something.”
“Oh, it’s you.” I recognised the voice of Mrs. Oliver. “Look here, I’m in a great hurry, got to go out. I’ll ring you back later.”
“That won’t do at all,” said Mrs. Oliver, firmly. “You’ve got to listen to me now. It’s important.”
“Well, you’ll have to be quick. I’ve got an appointment.”
“Pooh,” said Mrs. Oliver. “You can always be late for an appointment. Everybody is. They’ll think all the more of you.”
“No, really, I’ve got to—”
“Listen, Mark. This is important. I’m sure it is. It must be!”
I curbed my impatience as best I could, glancing at the clock.
“Well?”
“My Milly had tonsilitis. She was quite bad and she’s gone to the country—to her sister—”
I gritted my teeth.
“I’m frightfully sorry about that, but really—”
“Listen. I’ve not begun yet. Where was I? Oh yes. Milly had to go to the country and so I rang up the agency I always go to—the Regency—such a silly name I always think—like a cinema—”
“I really must—”
“And said what could they send? And they said it was very difficult just now—which they always say as a matter of fact—but they’d do what they could—”
Never had I found my friend Ariadne Oliver so maddening.
“—and so, this morning a woman came along, and who do you think she turned out to be?”
“I can’t imagine. Look—”
“A woman called Edith Binns—comic name, isn’t it?—and you actually know her.”
“No, I don’t. I never heard of a woman called Edith Binns.”
“But you do know her and you saw her not very long ago. She