The Secret Adversary - Agatha Christie [42]
Tuppence obeyed passively. Her good sense told her that there was nothing else to do but accept the situation. If she shrieked for help there was very little chance of anyone hearing her, whereas there was probably quite a good chance of Mrs Vandemeyer’s shooting her. In the meantime, every minute of delay gained was valuable.
Mrs Vandemeyer laid down the revolver on the edge of the wash-stand within reach of her hand, and, still eyeing Tuppence like a lynx in case the girl should attempt to move, she took a little stoppered bottle from its place on the marble and poured some of its contents into a glass which she filled up with water.
‘What’s that?’ asked Tuppence sharply.
‘Something to make you sleep soundly.’
Tuppence paled a little.
‘Are you going to poison me?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Vandemeyer, smiling agreeably.
‘Then I shan’t drink it,’ said Tuppence firmly. ‘I’d much rather be shot. At any rate that would make a row, and someone might hear it. But I won’t be killed off quietly like a lamb.’
Mrs Vandemeyer stamped her foot.
‘Don’t be a little fool! Do you really think I want a hue and cry for murder out after me? If you’ve any sense at all, you’ll realize that poisoning you wouldn’t suit my book at all. It’s a sleeping-draught, that’s all. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning none the worse. I simply don’t want the bother of tying you up and gagging you. That’s the alternative–and you won’t like it, I can tell you! I can be very rough if I choose. So drink this down like a good girl, and you’ll be none the worse for it.’
In her heart of hearts Tuppence believed her. The arguments she had adduced rang true. It was a simple and effective method of getting her out of the way for the time being. Nevertheless, the girl did not take kindly to the idea of being tamely put to sleep without as much as one bid for freedom. She felt that once Mrs Vandemeyer gave them the slip, the last hope of finding Tommy would be gone.
Tuppence was quick in her mental processes. All these reflections passed through her mind in a flash, and she saw where a chance, a very problematic chance, lay, and she determined to risk all in one supreme effort.
Accordingly, she lurched suddenly off the bed and fell on her knees before Mrs Vandemeyer, clutching her skirts frantically.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she moaned. ‘It’s poison–I know it’s poison. Oh, don’t make me drink it’–her voice rose to a shriek–‘don’t make me drink it!’
Mrs Vandemeyer, glass in hand, looked down with a curling lip at this sudden collapse.
‘Get up, you little idiot! Don’t go on drivelling there. How you ever had the nerve to play your part as you did I can’t think.’ She stamped her foot. ‘Get up, I say.’
But Tuppence continued to cling and sob, interjecting her sobs with incoherent appeals for mercy. Every minute gained was to the good. Moreover, as she grovelled, she moved imperceptibly nearer to her objective.
Mrs Vandemeyer gave a sharp impatient exclamation, and jerked the girl to her knees.
‘Drink it at once!’ Imperiously she pressed the glass to the girl’s lips.
Tuppence gave one last despairing moan.
‘You swear it won’t hurt me?’ she temporized.
‘Of course it won’t hurt you. Don’t be a fool.’
‘Will you swear it?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the other impatiently. ‘I swear it.’
Tuppence raised a trembling left hand to the glass.
‘Very well.’ Her mouth opened meekly.
Mrs Vandemeyer gave a sigh of relief, off her guard for the moment. Then, quick as a flash, Tuppence jerked the glass upward as hard as she could. The fluid in it splashed into Mrs Vandemeyer’s face, and during her momentary gasp, Tuppence’s right hand shot out and grasped the revolver where it lay on the edge of the wash-stand. The next moment she had sprung back a pace, and the revolver pointed straight at Mrs Vandemeyer’s heart, with no