AGATHA CHRISTIE. By the Pricking of My Thumbs

‘Well?’ ‘I’m getting worried about the chicken.’ ‘Oh damn the chicken,’ said Tommy. ‘You seem to have that chicken on your nerves.’ ‘Well, I took it as you and she wouldn’t be later than eight.

Not later than eight, sitting down, I mean.’ ‘I should have thought so, too,’ said Tommy, glancing at his wrist watch. ‘Good Lord, is it nearly five and twenty to nine?’ ‘Yes it is, sir. And the chicken ‘ ‘Oh, come on,’ said Tommy, ‘you get that chicken out of the oven and you and I’ll eat it between us. Serve Tuppence right.

Getting back well before dinner indeed!’ ‘Of course some people do eat dinner late,’ said Albert. ‘I went to Spain once and believe me, you couldn’t get a meal before ten o’clock. Ten p.m. I ask you! Heathens?

‘All right,’ said Tommy, absentmindedly. ‘By the way, have you no idea where she has been all this time?’ ‘You mean the missus? I dunno, sir. Rushing around, I’d say. Her first idea was going to places by train, as far as I can make out. She was always looking in A.B.C.s and timetables and things.’ ‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘we all have our ways of amusing ourselves, I suppose. Hers seems to have been railway travel. I wonder where she is all the same. Sitting in the Ladies’ Waiting Room at Little Dither on the Marsh, as likely as not.’ ‘She knew as you was coming home today though, didn’t she, sir?’ said Albert. ‘She’ll get here somehow. Sure to.’ Tommy perceived that he was being offered loyal allegiance.

He and Albert were linked together in expressing disapprobation of a Tuppence who in the course of her flirtations with

British Railways was neglecting to come home in time to give a returning husband his proper welcome.

Albert went away to release the chicken from its possible fate of cremation in the oven.

Tommy who had been about to follow him, stopped and looked towards the mantelpiece. He walked slowly to it and looked at the picture that hung there. Funny, her being so sure that she had seen that particular house before. Tommy felt quite certain that he hadn’t seen it. Anyway, it was quite an ordinary house. There must be plenty of houses like that.

He stretched up as far as he could towards it and then, still not able to get a good view, unhooked it and took it close to the electric lamp. A quiet, gentle house. There was the artist’s signature. The name began with a B though he couldn’t make out exactly what the name was. Bosworth – Bouchier – He’d get a magnifying glass and look at k more closely. A merry chime of cowbells came from the hall. Albert had highly approved of the Swiss cowbells that Tommy and Tuppence had brought back some time or other from Grindelwald. He was something of a virtuoso on them. Dinner was served.

Tommy went to the dining-room. It was odd, he thought, that Tuppence hadn’t turned up by now. Even if she had had a puncture, which seemed probable, he rather wondered that she hadn’t rung up to explain or excuse her delay.

‘She might know that I’d worry,’ said Tommy to himself.

Not, of come, that he ever did worry – not about Tuppence.

Tuppence was always all right. Albert contradicted this mood.

‘Hope she hasn’t had an accident,’ he remarked, presenting Tommy with a dish of cabbage, and shaking his head gloomily.

‘Take that away. You know I hate cabbage,’ said Tommy.

‘Why should she have had an accident? It’s only half past nine flow.

‘Being on the road is plain murder nowadays,’ said Albert.

‘Anyone might have an accident.’

The telephone bell rang. ‘That’s her,’ said Albert. Hastily reposing the dish of cabbage on the sideboard, he hurried out of the room. Tommy rose, abandoning his plate of chicken, and followed Albert. He was just saying ‘Here, I’ll take it,’ when Albert spoke.

‘Yes, sir? Yes, Mr Bcrcsford is at home, Here he is now.’ He turned his head to Tommy. ‘It’s a Dr Murray for you, sir.’ ‘Dr Murray?’ Tommy thought for a moment. The name seemed familiar but for the moment be couldn’t remember who Dr Murray was. If Tuppence had had an accident – and then with a sigh of relief he remembered that Dr Murray had been the doctor who attended the old ladies at Sunny Ridge.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *