Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [30]
“Oh do,” said Kay. “I like murders.”
Mr. Treves spoke slowly, apparently choosing his words with great deliberation and care.
“The case concerned a child. I will not mention the child’s age or sex. The facts were as follows: two children were playing with bows and arrows. One child sent an arrow through the other child in a vital spot and death resulted. There was an inquest, the surviving child was completely distraught and the accident was commiserated and sympathy expressed for the unhappy author of the deed.” He paused.
“Was that all?” asked Ted Latimer.
“That was all. A regrettable accident. But there is, you see, another side to the story. A farmer, some time previously, happened to have passed up a certain path in a wood nearby. There, in a little clearing, he had noticed a child practising with a bow and arrow.”
He paused—to let his meaning sink in.
“You mean,” said Mary Aldin incredulously, “that it was not an accident—that it was intentional?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Treves. “I have never known. But it was stated at the inquest that the children were unused to bows and arrows and in consequence shot wildly and ignorantly.”
“And that was not so?”
“That, in the case of one of the children, was certainly not so!”
“What did the farmer do?” said Audrey breathlessly.
“He did nothing. Whether he acted rightly or not, I have never been sure. It was the future of a child that was at stake. A child, he felt, ought to be given the benefit of a doubt.”
Audrey said:
“But you yourself have no doubt about what really happened?”
Mr. Treves said gravely:
“Personally, I am of the opinion that it was a particularly ingenious murder—a murder committed by a child and planned down to every detail beforehand.”
Ted Latimer asked:
“Was there a reason?”
“Oh yes, there was a motive. Childish teasings, unkind words—enough to foment hatred. Children hate easily—”
Mary exclaimed: “But the deliberation of it.”
Mr. Treves nodded.
“Yes, the deliberation of it was bad. A child, keeping that murderous intention in its heart, quietly practising day after day and then the final piece of acting—the awkward shooting—the catastrophe, the pretence of grief and despair. It was all incredible—so incredible that probably it would not have been believed in court.”
“What happened to—to the child?” asked Kay curiously.
“Its name was changed, I believe,” said Mr. Treves. “After the publicity of the inquest that was deemed advisable. That child is a grown-up person today—somewhere in the world. The question is, has it still got a murderer’s heart?”
He added thoughtfully:
“It was a long time ago, but I would recognize my little murderer anywhere.”
“Surely not,” objected Royde.
“Oh, yes, there was a certain physical peculiarity—well, I will not dwell on the subject. It is not a very pleasant one. I must really be on my way home.”
He rose.
Mary said, “You will have a drink first?”
The drinks were on a table at the other end of the room. Thomas Royde, who was near them, stepped forward and took the stopper out of the whisky decanter.
“A whisky and soda, Mr. Treves? Latimer, what about you?”
Nevile said to Audrey in a low voice:
“It’s a lovely evening. Come out for a little.”
She had been standing by the window looking out at the moonlit terrace. He stepped past her and stood outside, waiting. She turned back into the room, shaking her head quickly.
“No, I’m tired. I—I think I’ll go to bed.”
She crossed the room and went out. Kay gave a wide yawn.
“I’m sleepy too. What about you, Mary?”
“Yes, I think so. Goodnight, Mr. Treves. Look after Mr. Treves, Thomas.”
“Goodnight, Miss Aldin. Goodnight, Mrs. Strange.”
“We’ll be over for lunch tomorrow, Ted,” said Kay. “We could bathe if it’s still like this.”
“Right. I’ll be looking for you. Goodnight, Miss Aldin.”
The two women left the room.
Ted Latimer said agreeably to Mr. Treves:
“I’m coming your way, sir. Down to the ferry,