The Sittaford Mystery - Agatha Christie [63]
Violet shook her head.
‘I’m afraid—I’m afraid—’
‘Nonsense—and as for saying you gave the show away by fainting yesterday—nothing of the kind. Don’t worry.’
‘But that Inspector—he’s bound to think—’
‘That it was the mention of Jim Pearson made you faint? Yes—he’ll think that all right. He’s no fool, that Inspector Narracott. But what if he does? He’ll suspect a connection—and he’ll look for it—and he won’t find it.’
‘You think not?’
‘Of course not! How can he? Trust me, Violet dear. That’s cast-iron certainty and, in a way, perhaps that faint of yours was a lucky happening. We’ll think so anyway.’
Conversation No. 2 was in Major Burnaby’s cottage. It was a somewhat one-sided one, the brunt of it being borne by Mrs Curtis, who had been poised for departure for the last half hour, having dropped in to collect Major Burnaby’s laundry.
‘Like my Great Aunt Sarah’s Belinda, that’s what I said to Curtis this morning,’ said Mrs Curtis triumphantly. ‘A deep one—and one that can twist all the men round her little finger.’
A great grunt from Major Burnaby.
‘Engaged to one young man and carrying on with another,’ said Mrs Curtis. ‘That’s my Great Aunt Sarah’s Belinda all over. And not for the fun of it, mark you. It’s not just flightiness—she’s a deep one. And now young Mr Garfield—she’ll have him roped in before you can say knife. Never have I seen a young gentleman look more like a sheep than he did this morning—and that’s a sure sign.’
She paused for breath.
‘Well, well,’ said Major Burnaby. ‘Don’t let me keep you, Mrs Curtis.’
‘Curtis will be wanting his tea and that’s a fact,’ said Mrs Curtis without moving. ‘I was never one to stand about gossiping. Get on with your job—that’s what I say. And talking about jobs, what do you say, sir, to a good turn out?’
‘No!’ said Major Burnaby with force.
‘It’s a month since it’s been done.’
‘No. I like to know where to lay my hand on everything. After one of these turn outs nothing’s ever put back in its place.’
Mrs Curtis sighed. She was an impassioned cleaner and turner out.
‘It’s Captain Wyatt as could do with a spring cleaning,’ she observed. ‘That nasty native of his—what does he know about cleaning, I should like to know? Nasty black fellow.’
‘Nothing better than a native servant,’ said Major Burnaby. ‘They know their job and they don’t talk.’
Any hint the last sentence might have contained was lost on Mrs Curtis. Her mind had reverted to a former topic.
‘Two telegrams she got—two arriving in half an hour. Gave me quite a turn it did. But she read them as cool as anything. And then she told me she was going to Exeter and wouldn’t be back till tomorrow.’
‘Did she take her young man with her?’ inquired the Major with a gleam of hope.
‘No, he’s still here. A pleasant spoken young gentleman. He and she’d make a nice pair.’
Grunt from Major Burnaby.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Curtis. ‘I’ll be getting along.’
The Major hardly dared breathe for fear he might distract her from her purpose. But this time Mrs Curtis was as good as her word. The door closed behind her.
With a sigh of relief the Major drew forth a pipe and began to peruse a prospectus of a certain mine which was couched in terms so blatantly optimistic that it would have aroused suspicion in any heart but that of a widow or a retired soldier.
‘Twelve per cent,’ murmured Major Burnaby. ‘That sounds pretty good…’
Next door Captain Wyatt was laying down the law to Mr Rycroft.
‘Fellows like you,’ he said, ‘don’t know anything of the world. You’ve never lived. You’ve never roughed it.’
Mr Rycroft said nothing. It was so difficult not to say the wrong thing to Captain Wyatt that it was usually safer not to reply at all.
The Captain leaned over the side of his invalid chair.
‘Where’s that bitch got to? Nice-looking girl,’ he added.
The association of ideas in his mind was quite natural. It was less so to Mr