AGATHA CHRISTIE. By the Pricking of My Thumbs

‘Who sent you here to find me?’ asked Tuppence.

‘Emma Boscowan.’ ‘I thought so.’ She joined the friendly witch and they went through the secret door and on down.

A house for lovers, Emma Boscowan had said to Tuppence.

Well, that was how she was leaving it – in the possession of two lovers – one dead and one who suffered and lived She went out through the door to where Tommy and the car were waiting.

She said goodbye to the friendly witch. She got into the car.

‘Tuppence,’ said Tommy.

‘I know,’ said Tuppence.

‘Don’t do it again,’ said Tommy. ‘Don’t ever do it again.’ ‘I won’t.’ ‘That’s what you say now, but you will.’ ‘No, I shan’t. I’m too old.’ Tommy pressed the starter. They drove off. ‘ ‘Poor Nellie Bligh,’ said Tuppence.

‘Why do you say that?’ ‘So terribly in love with Philip Starke. Doing all those things for him all those years – such a lot of wasted doglike devotion.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said Tommy. ‘I expect she’s enjoyed every minute of it. Some women do.’ ‘Heartless brute,’ said Tuppence.

‘Where do you want to go – The Lamb and Flag at Market Basing?’

The End

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