Detectives and Young Adventurers: The Complete Short Stories. Agatha Christie

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СКАЧАТЬ bushes, strips off the blue coat, then sheds his own skirt and the hat and curls. He puts on Sessle’s well-known blue coat and cap and strides back to the tee. Three minutes would do it. The others behind can’t see his face, only the peculiar blue coat they know so well. They never doubt that it’s Sessle – but he doesn’t play Sessle’s brand of golf. They all say he played like a different man. Of course he did. He was a different man.’

      ‘But –’

      ‘Point No. 2. His action in bringing the girl down there was the action of a different man. It wasn’t Sessle who met Doris Evans at a cinema and induced her to come down to Sunningdale. It was a man calling himself Sessle. Remember, Doris Evans wasn’t arrested until a fortnight after the time. She never saw the body. If she had, she might have bewildered everyone by declaring that that wasn’t the man who took her out on the golf links that night and spoke so wildly of suicide. It was a carefully laid plot. The girl invited down for Wednesday when Sessle’s house would be empty, then the hatpin which pointed to its being a woman’s doing. The murderer meets the girl, takes her into the bungalow and gives her supper, then takes her out on the links, and when he gets to the scene of the crime, brandishes his revolver and scares the life out of her. Once she has taken to her heels, all he has to do is to pull out the body and leave it lying on the tee. The revolver he chucks into the bushes. Then he makes a neat parcel of the skirt and – now I admit I’m guessing – in all probability walks to Woking, which is only about six or seven miles away, and goes back to town from there.’

      ‘Wait a minute,’ said Tuppence. ‘There’s one thing you haven’t explained. What about Hollaby?’

      ‘Hollaby?’

      ‘Yes. I admit that the people behind couldn’t have seen whether it was really Sessle or not. But you can’t tell me that the man who was playing with him was so hypnotised by the blue coat that he never looked at his face.’

      ‘My dear old thing,’ said Tommy. ‘That’s just the point. Hollaby knew all right. You see, I’m adopting your theory – that Hollaby and his son were the real embezzlers. The murderer’s got to be a man who knew Sessle pretty well – knew, for instance, about the servants being always out on a Wednesday, and that his wife was away. And also someone who was able to get an impression of Sessle’s latch key. I think Hollaby junior would fulfil all these requirements. He’s about the same age and height as Sessle, and they were both clean-shaven men. Doris Evans probably saw several photographs of the murdered man reproduced in the papers, but as you yourself observed – one can just see that it’s a man and that’s about all.’

      ‘Didn’t she ever see Hollaby in Court?’

      ‘The son never appeared in the case at all. Why should he? He had no evidence to give. It was old Hollaby, with his irreproachable alibi, who stood in the limelight throughout. Nobody has ever bothered to inquire what his son was doing that particular evening.’

      ‘It all fits in,’ admitted Tuppence. She paused a minute and then asked: ‘Are you going to tell all this to the police?’

      ‘I don’t know if they’d listen.’

      ‘They’d listen all right,’ said an unexpected voice behind him.

      Tommy swung round to confront Inspector Marriot. The Inspector was sitting at the next table. In front of him was a poached egg.

      ‘Often drop in here to lunch,’ said Inspector Marriot. ‘As I was saying, we’ll listen all right – in fact I’ve been listening. I don’t mind telling you that we’ve not been quite satisfied all along over those Porcupine figures. You see, we’ve had our suspicions of those Hollabys, but nothing to go upon. Too sharp for us. Then this murder came, and that seemed to upset all our ideas. But thanks to you and the lady, sir, we’ll confront young Hollaby with Doris Evans and see if she recognises him. I rather fancy she will. That’s a very ingenious idea of yours about the blue coat. I’ll see that Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives get the credit for it.’

      ‘You are a nice man, Inspector Marriot,’ said Tuppence gratefully.

      ‘We think a lot of you two at the Yard,’ replied that stolid gentleman. ‘You’d be surprised. If I may ask you, sir, what’s the meaning of that piece of string?’

      ‘Nothing,’ said Tommy, stuffing it into his pocket. ‘A bad habit of mine. As to the cheesecake and the milk – I’m on a diet. Nervous dyspepsia. Busy men are always martyrs to it.’

      ‘Ah!’ said the detective. ‘I thought perhaps you’d been reading – well, it’s of no consequence.’

      But the Inspector’s eyes twinkled.

      Chapter 10

       The House of Lurking Death

      ‘The House of Lurking Death’ was first published in The Sketch, 5 November 1924. Inspector Hanaud was created by

       A. E. W. Mason (1865–1948).

      ‘What –’ began Tuppence, and then stopped.

      She had just entered the private office of Mr Blunt from the adjoining one marked ‘Clerks,’ and was surprised to behold her lord and master with his eye riveted to the private peep-hole into the outer office.

      ‘Ssh,’ said Tommy warningly. ‘Didn’t you hear the buzzer? It’s a girl – rather a nice girl – in fact she looks to me a frightfully nice girl. Albert is telling her all that tosh about my being engaged with Scotland Yard.’

      ‘Let me see,’ demanded Tuppence.

      Somewhat unwillingly, Tommy moved aside. Tuppence in her turn glued her eye to the peep-hole.

      ‘She’s not bad,’ admitted Tuppence. ‘And her clothes are simply the lastest shout.’

      ‘She’s perfectly lovely,’ said Tommy. ‘She’s like those girls Mason writes about – you know, frightfully sympathetic, and beautiful, and distinctly intelligent without being too saucy. I think, yes – I certainly think – I shall be the great Hanaud this morning.’

      ‘H’m,’ said Tuppence. ‘If there is one detective out of all the others whom you are most unlike – I should say it was Hanaud. Can you do the lightning changes of personality? Can you be the great comedian, the little gutter boy, the serious and sympathetic friend – all in five minutes?’

      ‘I know this,’ said Tommy, rapping sharply on the desk, ‘I am the Captain of the Ship – and don’t you forget it, Tuppence. I’m going to have her in.’

      He pressed the buzzer on his desk. Albert appeared ushering in the client.

      The girl stopped in the doorway as though undecided. Tommy came forward.

      ‘Come in, mademoiselle,’ he said kindly, ‘and seat yourself here.’

      Tuppence choked audibly and Tommy turned upon her with a swift change of manner. His tone was menacing.

      ‘You spoke, Miss Robinson? Ah, no, I thought not.’

      He turned back to the girl.

      ‘We will not be serious or formal,’ he said. ‘You will just tell me about it, and then we will discuss the best way to help you.’

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