The Sittaford Mystery - Agatha Christie [86]
‘That is correct, I think,’ said Mr Rycroft. ‘We are about to repeat the experiment of last Friday under precisely similar conditions.’
‘Not precisely similar,’ objected Mrs Willett. ‘Mr Duke is missing.’
‘True,’ said Mr Rycroft. ‘A pity he is not here. A great pity. Well—er—we must consider him as replaced by Mr Pearson.’
‘Don’t take part in it, Brian. I beg of you. Please don’t,’ cried Violet.
‘What does it matter? It’s all nonsense anyway.’
‘That is quite the wrong spirit,’ said Mr Rycroft severely.
Brian Pearson did not reply, but took his place beside Violet.
‘Mr Enderby,’ began Mr Rycroft, but Charles interrupted him.
‘I was not in on this. I’m a journalist and you mistrust me. I’ll take notes in shorthand of any phenomena—that’s the word, isn’t it?—that occur.’
Matters were settled like that. The other six took their places round the table. Charles turned off the lights and sat down on the fender.
‘One minute,’ he said. ‘What’s the time?’ He peered at his wrist watch in the firelight.
‘That’s odd,’ he said.
‘What’s odd?’
‘It’s just twenty-five minutes past five.’
Violet uttered a little cry.
Mr Rycroft said severely:
‘Silence.’
The minutes passed. A very different atmosphere this to the one a week ago. There was no muffled laughter, no whispered comments—only silence, broken at last by a slight crack from the table.
Mr Rycroft’s voice rose.
‘Is there any one there?’
Another faint crack—somehow an eerie sound in that darkened room.
‘Is there anyone there?’
Not a crack this time but a deafening tremendous rap.
Violet screamed and Mrs Willett gave a cry.
Brian Pearson’s voice rose reassuringly.
‘It’s all right. That’s a knock at the front door. I’ll go and open it.’
He strode from the room.
Still nobody spoke.
Suddenly the door flew open, the lights were switched on.
In the doorway stood Inspector Narracott. Behind him were Emily Trefusis and Mr Duke.
Narracott took a step into the room and spoke.
‘John Burnaby I charge you with the murder of Joseph Trevelyan on Friday the 14th instant, and I hereby warn you that anything you may say will be taken down and may be used in evidence.’
Chapter 30
Emily Explains
It was a crowd of people almost too surprised for words that crowded round Emily Trefusis.
Inspector Narracott had led his prisoner from the room.
Charles Enderby found his voice first.
‘For heaven’s sake, cough it up, Emily,’ he said. ‘I want to get to the telegraph office. Every moment’s vital.’
‘It was Major Burnaby who killed Captain Trevelyan.’
‘Well, I saw Narracott arrest him. And I suppose Narracott’s sane—hasn’t gone off his nut suddenly. But how can Burnaby have killed Trevelyan? I mean how is it humanly possible? If Trevelyan was killed at five and twenty past five—’
‘He wasn’t. He was killed at about a quarter to six.’
‘Well, but even then—’
‘I know. You’d never guess unless you just happened to think of it. Skis—that’s the explanation—skis.’
‘Skis?’ repeated everyone.
Emily nodded.
‘Yes. He deliberately engineered that table-turning. It wasn’t an accident and done unconsciously as we thought, Charles. It was the second alternative that we rejected—done on purpose. He saw it was going to snow before very long. That would make it perfectly safe and wipe out all tracks. He created the impression that Captain Trevelyan was dead—got everyone all worked up. Then he pretended to be very upset and insisted on starting off for Exhampton.
‘He went home, buckled on his skis (they were kept in a shed in the garden with a lot of other tackle) and started. He was an expert on skis. It’s all down hill to Exhampton—a wonderful run. It would only take about ten minutes.
‘He arrived at the window and rapped. Captain Trevelyan let him in, all unsuspecting. Then, when Captain Trevelyan’s back was turned he seized his opportunity, picked up that sandbag thing and—and killed him. Ugh! It makes me sick to think of it.’
She shuddered.
‘It was all quite easy. He had plenty of