The Clocks - Christie Agatha - Страница 41

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‘I’ve no idea. She couldn’t have thoughtI had anything to do with the murder. She couldn’t.’

‘Could it have been something she overheard and made a mistake about?’

‘There was nothing, I tell you. Nothing!’

I wondered. I couldn’t help wondering…Even now, I didn’t trust Sheila to tell the truth.

‘Have you got any personal enemies? Disgruntled young men, jealous girls, someone or other a bit unbalanced who might have it in for you?’

It sounded most unconvincing as I said it.

‘Of course not.’

So there it was. Even now I wasn’t sure about that clock. It was a fantastic story. 413. What did those figures mean? Why write them on a postcard with the word: REMEMBER unless they would meansomething to the person to whom the postcard was sent?

I sighed, paid the bill and got up.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. (Surely the most fatuous words in the English or any other language.) ‘The Colin Lamb Personal Service is on the job. You’re going to be all right, and we’re going to be married and live happily ever after on practically nothing a year. By the way,’ I said, unable to stop myself, though I knew it would have been better to end on the romantic note, but the Colin Lamb Personal Curiosity drove me on. ‘What have you actually done with that clock? Hidden it in your stocking drawer?’

She waited just a moment before she said:

‘I put it in the dustbin of the house next door.’

I was quite impressed. It was simple and probably effective. To think of that had been clever of her. Perhaps I had under-estimated Sheila.

Colin Lamb’s Narrative

When Sheila had gone, I went across to the Clarendon, packed my bag and left it ready with the porter. It was the kind of hotel where they are particular about your checking out before noon.

Then I set out. My route took me past the police station, and after hesitating a moment, I went in. I asked for Hardcastle and he was there. I found him frowning down at a letter in his hand.

‘I’m off again this evening, Dick,’ I said. ‘Back to London.’

He looked up at me with a thoughtful expression.

‘Will you take a piece of advice from me?’

‘No,’ I said immediately.

He paid no attention. People never do when they want to give you advice.

‘I should get away-and stay away-if you know what’s best for you.’ 

‘Nobody can judge what’s best for anyone else.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘I’ll tell you something, Dick. When I’ve tidied up my present assignment, I’m quitting. At least-I think I am.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m like an old-fashioned Victorian clergyman. I have Doubts.’

‘Give yourself time.’

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. I asked him what he himself was looking so worried about.

‘Read that.’ He passed me the letter he had been studying.

Dear Sir,

I’ve just thought of something. You asked me if my husband had any identifying marks and I said he hadn’t. But I was wrong. Actually he has a kind of scar behind his left ear. He cut himself with a razor when a dog we had jumped up at him, and he had to have it stitched up. It was so small and unimportant I never thought of it the other day.

Yours truly,

Merlina Rival

‘She writes a nice dashing hand,’ I said, ‘though I’ve never really fancied purple ink. Did the deceased have a scar?’

‘He had a scar all right. Just where she says.’ 

‘Didn’t she see it when she was shown the body?’

Hardcastle shook his head.

‘The ear covers it. You have to bend the ear forward before you can see it.’

‘Then that’s all right. Nice piece of corroboration. What’s eating you?’

Hardcastle said gloomily that this case was the devil! He asked if I would be seeing my French or Belgian friend in London.

‘Probably. Why?’

‘I mentioned him to the chief constable who says he remembers him quite well-that Girl Guide murder case. I was to extend a very cordial welcome to him if he is thinking of coming down here.’

‘Not he,’ I said. ‘The man is practically a limpet.’

It was a quarter past twelve when I rang the bell at 62, Wilbraham Crescent. Mrs Ramsay opened the door. She hardly raised her eyes to look at me.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘Can I speak to you for a moment? I was here about ten days ago. You may not remember.’

She lifted her eyes to study me further. A faint frown appeared between her eyebrows. 

‘You came-you were with the police inspector, weren’t you?’

‘That’s right, Mrs Ramsay. Can I come in?’

‘If you want to, I suppose. One doesn’t refuse to let the police in. They’d take a very poor view of it if you did.’

She led the way into the sitting-room, made a brusque gesture towards a chair and sat down opposite me. There had been a faint acerbity in her voice, but her manner now resumed a listlessness which I had not noted in it previously.

I said:

‘It seems quiet here today…I suppose your boys have gone back to school?’

‘Yes. It does make a difference.’ She went on, ‘I suppose you want to ask some more questions, do you, about this last murder? The girl who was killed in the telephone box.’

‘No, not exactly that. I’m not really connected with the police, you know.’

She looked faintly surprised.

‘I thought you were Sergeant-Lamb, wasn’t it?’

‘My name is Lamb, yes, but I work in an entirely different department.’

The listlessness vanished from Mrs Ramsay’s manner. She gave me a quick, hard, direct stare.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘well, what is it?’ 

‘Your husband is still abroad?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s been gone rather a long time, hasn’t he, Mrs Ramsay? And gone rather a long way?’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘Well, he’s gone beyond the Iron Curtain, hasn’t he?’

She was silent for a moment or two, and then she said in a quiet, toneless voice:

‘Yes. Yes, that’s quite right.’

‘Did you know he was going?’

‘More or less.’ She paused a minute and then said, ‘He wanted me to join him there.’

‘Had he been thinking of it for some time?’

‘I suppose so. He didn’t tell me until lately.’

‘You are not in sympathy with his views?’

‘I was once, I suppose. But you must know that already…You check up pretty thoroughly on things like that, don’t you? Go back into the past, find out who was a fellow traveller, who was a party member, all that sort of thing.’

‘You might be able to give us information that would be very useful to us,’ I said.

She shook her head.

‘No. I can’t do that. I don’t mean that I won’t. You see, he never told me anything definite. I didn’t want to know. I was sick and tired of the whole thing! When Michael told me that he was leaving this country, clearing out, and going to Moscow, it didn’t really startle me. I had to decide then, whatI wanted to do.’

‘And you decided you were not sufficiently in sympathy with your husband’s aims?’

‘No, I wouldn’t put it like that at all! My view is entirely personal. I believe it always is with women in the end, unless of course one is a fanatic. And then women can bevery fanatical, but I wasn’t. I’ve never been anything more than mildly left-wing.’

‘Was your husband mixed up in the Larkin business?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose he might have been. He never told me anything or spoke to me about it.’

She looked at me suddenly with more animation.

‘We’d better get it quite clear, Mr Lamb. Or Mr Wolf in Lamb’s clothing, or whatever you are. I loved my husband, I might have been fond enough of him to go with him to Moscow, whether I agreed with what his politics were or not. He wanted me to bring the boys. I didn’t want to bring the boys! It was as simple as that. And so I decided I’d have to stay with them. Whether I shall ever see Michael again or not I don’t know. He’s got to choose his way of life and I’ve got to choose mine, but I did know one thing quite definitely. After he talked about it to me. I wanted the boys brought up here in their own country. They’re English. I want them to be brought up as ordinary English boys.’ 

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