The Sittaford Mystery - Agatha Christie [82]
A moment later she was staring with incredulous delight at a parcel wrapped neatly in newspaper. One shake detached the newspaper and there, before her, were the missing pair of boots.
‘But why?’ said Emily. ‘Here they are. But why? Why? Why? Why?’
She stared at them. She turned them over. She examined them outside and inside and the same question beat monotonously in her brain. Why?
Granted that someone had removed Captain Trevelyan’s boots and hidden them up the chimney. Why had they done so?
‘Oh!’ cried Emily desperately, ‘I shall go mad!’
She put the boots carefully in the middle of the floor, and drawing up a chair opposite them she sat down. And then deliberately she set herself to think out things from the beginning, going over every detail that she knew herself or had learned by hearsay from other people. She considered every actor in the drama and outside the drama.
And suddenly, a queer nebulous idea began to take shape—an idea suggested by that pair of innocent boots that stood there dumbly on the floor.
‘But if so,’ said Emily,—‘if so—’
She picked up the boots in her hand and hurried downstairs. She pushed open the dining-room door and went to the cupboard in the corner. Here was Captain Trevelyan’s motley array of sporting trophies and sporting outfits, all the things he had not trusted within reach of the female tenants. The skis, the sculls, the elephant’s foot, the tusks, the fishing rods—everything still waiting for Messrs Young and Peabody to pack them expertly for store.
Emily bent down boots in hand.
In a minute or two she stood upright, flushed, incredulous.
‘So that was it,’ said Emily. ‘So that was it.’
She sank into a chair. There was still much that she did not understand.
After some minutes she rose to her feet. She spoke aloud.
‘I know who killed Captain Trevelyan,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know why. I still can’t think why. But I mustn’t lose time.’
She hurried out of Hazelmoor. To find a car to drive her to Sittaford was the work of a few minutes. She ordered it to take her to Mr Duke’s bungalow. Here she paid the man and then walked up the path as the car drove away.
She lifted the knocker and gave a loud rat-tat.
After a moment or two’s interval the door was opened by a big burly man with a rather impassive face.
For the first time, Emily met Mr Duke face to face.
‘Mr Duke?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I am Miss Trefusis. May I come in, please?’
There was a momentary hesitation. Then he stood aside to let her pass. Emily walked into the living-room. He closed the front door and followed her.
‘I want to see Inspector Narracott,’ said Emily. ‘Is he here?’
Again there was a pause. Mr Duke seemed uncertain how to answer. At last he appeared to make up his mind. He smiled—a rather curious smile.
‘Inspector Narracott is here,’ he said. ‘What do you want to see him about?’
Emily took the parcel she was carrying and unwrapped it. She took out a pair of boots and placed them on the table in front of him.
‘I want,’ she said, ‘to see him about those boots.’
Chapter 29
The Second Séance
‘Hullo, hullo, hullo,’ said Ronnie Garfield.
Mr Rycroft, slowly ascending the steep slope of the lane from the post office, paused, till Ronnie overtook him.
‘Been to the local Harrods, eh?’ said Ronnie. ‘Old Mother Hibbert.’
‘No,’ said Mr Rycroft. ‘I have been for a short walk along past the forge. Very delightful weather today.’
Ronnie looked up at the blue sky.
‘Yes, a bit of a difference from last week. By the way, you’re going to the Willetts’, I suppose?’
‘I am. You also?’
‘Yes. Our bright spot in Sittaford—the Willetts. Mustn’t let yourself get downhearted, that’s their motto. Carry on as usual. My aunt says it is unfeeling of them to ask people to tea so soon after the funeral and all that, but that’s all bunkum. She just says that because she’s feeling rattled about the Emperor of Peru.’
‘The Emperor of Peru?’ said Mr Rycroft surprised.
‘One of the blinking cats. It