Agatha Christie – A Murder Is Announced

Craddock interrupted.

‘A new bottle? Was there an old one?’

‘Yes. Half full. But Aunt Letty didn’t seem to fancy it.’

‘Was she nervous, then?’

‘Oh, not really. She’s extremely sensible. It was old Bunny, I think, who had put the wind up her—prophesying disaster all day.’

‘Miss Bunner was definitely apprehensive, then?’

‘Oh, yes, she enjoyed herself thoroughly.’

‘She took the advertisement seriously?’

‘It scared her into fits.’

‘Miss Blacklock seems to have thought, when she first read that advertisement, that you had had something to do with it. Why was that?’

‘Ah, sure, I get blamed for everything round here!’

‘You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you, Mr Simmons?’

‘Me? Never in the world.’

‘Had you ever seen or spoken to this Rudi Scherz?’

‘Never seen him in my life.’

‘It was the kind of joke you might have played, though?’

‘Who’s been telling you that? Just because I once made Bunny an apple pie bed—and sent Mitzi a postcard saying the Gestapo was on her track—’

‘Just give me your account of what happened.’

‘I’d just gone into the small drawing-room to fetch the drinks when, Hey Presto, the lights went out. I turned round and there’s a fellow standing in the doorway saying, “Stick your hands up,” and everybody gasping and squealing, and just when I’m thinking—can I rush him? he starts firing a revolver and then crash down he goes and his torch goes out and we’re in the dark again, and Colonel Easterbrook starts shouting orders in his barrack-room voice. “Lights,” he says, and will my lighter go on? No, it won’t as is the way of those cussed inventions.’

‘Did it seem to you that the intruder was definitely aiming at Miss Blacklock?’

‘Ah, how could I tell? I should say he just loosed off his revolver for the fun of the thing—and then found, maybe, he’d gone too far.’

‘And shot himself?’

‘It could be. When I saw the face of him, he looked like the kind of little pasty thief who might easily lose his nerve.’

‘And you’re sure you had never seen him before?’

‘Never.’

‘Thank you, Mr Simmons. I shall want to interview the other people who were here last night. Which would be the best order in which to take them?’

‘Well, our Phillipa—Mrs Haymes—works at Dayas Hall. The gates of it are nearly opposite this gate. After that, the Swettenhams are the nearest. Anyone will tell you.’

Chapter 7

Among Those Present

I

Dayas Hall had certainly suffered during the war years. Couch grass grew enthusiastically over what had once been an asparagus bed, as evidenced by a few waving tufts of asparagus foliage. Grounsel, bindweed and other garden pests showed every sign of vigorous growth.

A portion of the kitchen garden bore evidence of having been reduced to discipline and here Craddock found a sour-looking old man leaning pensively on a spade.

‘It’s Mrs ’Aymes you want? I couldn’t say where you’d find ’er. ’As ’er own ideas, she ’as, about what she’ll do. Not one to take advice. I could show her—show ’er willing—but what’s the good, won’t listen these young ladies won’t! Think they know everything because they’ve put on breeches and gone for a ride on a tractor. But it’s gardening that’s needed here. And that isn’t learned in a day. Gardening, that’s what this place needs.’

‘It looks as though it does,’ said Craddock.

The old man chose to take this remark as an aspersion.

‘Now look here, mister, what do you suppose I can do with a place this size? Three men and a boy, that’s what it used to ’ave. And that’s what it wants. There’s not many men could put in the work on it that I do. ’Ere sometimes I am till eight o’clock at night. Eight o’clock.’

‘What do you work by? An oil lamp?’

‘Naterally I don’t mean this time o’ year. Naterally. Summer evenings I’m talking about.’

‘Oh,’ said Craddock. ‘I’d better go and look for Mrs Haymes.’

The rustic displayed some interest.

‘What are you wanting ’er for? Police, aren’t you? She been in trouble, or is it the do there was up to Little Paddocks? Masked men bursting in and holding up a roomful of people with a revolver. An’ that sort of thing wouldn’t ’ave ’appened afore the war. Deserters, that’s what it is. Desperate men roaming the countryside. Why don’t the military round ’em up?’