house?"
"That's right," said Ronnie.
"I was hoping to get a snapshot of it this morning. For
my paper, you know," he added. "But this weather is
hopeless for photography."
Ronnie accepted this statement in all good taith with183
Agatha Christie
out reflecting that if photography was only possible on
days of brilliant sunshine, the pictures appearing in the
daily papers would be few.
"It must be a very interesting job--yours," he said.
"A dog's life," said Charles t:aithful to the convention
of never showing enthusiasm about one's work. He looked
over his shoulder at Sittaford House. "Rather a gloomy
place I should imagine."
"No end of a difference there since the Willetts moved
in," said Ronnie. "I was down here last year about the
same time and really you would hardly take it for the
same place, and yet, I don't know quite what they have
done. Moved the furniture about a bit, I suppose, got
cushions and things of that sort about. It's been a godsend
to me their being here, I can tell you."
"Can't be a very jolly spot as a rule I suppose," said
Charles.
"Jolly? If I lived here a fortnight I should pass out
altogether. How my aunt manages to cling on to life in
the way she does beats me. You haven't seen her cats,
have you? I had to comb one of them this morning and
look at the way the brute scratched me." He held out a
hand and an arm for inspection.
"Rather rough luck," said Charles.
"I should say it was. I say, are you doing any sleuthing?
If so, can I help? Be the Watson to your Sherlock, or
anything of that kind?"
"Any clues in Sittaford House?" inquired Charles cas-ually.
"I mean did Captain Trevelyan leave any of his
things there?"
"I don't think so. My aunt was saying he moved lock,
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Murder at Hazelmoor
stock and barrel. Took his elephant's trotters and his
hippopotamus's toothy pegs and all the sporting rifles
and what nots."
"Almost as though he didn't mean to come back," said
Charles.
"I say--that's an idea. You don't think it was suicide,
do you?"
"A man who can hit himself correctly on the back of
the head with a sandbag would be something of an artist
in the suicide world," said Charles.
"Yes, I thought there wasn't much in that idea. Looks
as if he had had a premonition though," Ronnie's face
brightened. "Look here, what about this? Enemies on
his track, he knows they're coming, so he clears out and
passes the buck, as it were, to the Willetts."
"The Willetts were a bit of a miracle by themselves,"
said Charles.
"Yes, I can't make it out. Fancy planting yourself down
here in the country like this. Violet doesn't seem to
mind--actually says she likes it. I don't know what's the
matter with her today, I suppose it's the domestic trou-ble.
I can't think why women worry so about servants.
If they cut up nasty, just push them out."
"That's just what they have done, isn't it?" said Charles.
"Yes, I know. But they are in a great stew about it all.
Mother lying down with screaming hysterics or some-thing
and daughter snapping like a turtle. Fairly pushed
me out just now."
"They haven't had the police there, have they?"
Ronnie stared.
"The police, no, why would they?"
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Agatha Christie
"Well, I wondered. Seeing Inspector Narracott in Sit-taford
this morning."
Ronnie dropped his stick with a clatter and stooped
to pick it up.
"Who did you say was in Sittaford this morning--Inspector
Narracott?"
"Yes."
"Is he--is he the man in charge of the Trevelyan case?"
"That's right."
"What was he doing in Sittaford? Where did you see
him?"
"Oh, I suppose he was just nosing about," said Charles,
"checking up Captain Trevelyan's past life so to speak."
"You think that's all?"
"I suppose so."
"He doesn't think anyone in Sittaford had anything to
do with it?"
"That would be very unlikely, wouldn't it?"
"Oh frightfully. But then you know what the police
are--always butting in on the wrong tack. At least that's
what it says in detective novels."
"I think they are really rather an intelligent body of
men," said Charles. "Of course, the Press does a lot to
help them," he added. "But if you really read a case
carefully it's amazing the way they track down murderers
with practically no evidence to go on."
"Oh--well--it's nice to know that, isn't it? They have
certainly got on to this man Pearson pretty quick. It
seems a pretty clear case."
"Crystal clear," said Charles. "A good thing it wasn't
you or me, eh? Well, I must be sending off a few wires.
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Murder at Hazelmoor
They don't seem very used to telegrams in this place. If
you send more than half a crown's worth at one go they
seem to think you are an escaped lunatic."
Charles sent his telegrams, bought a packet of ciga-rettes,
a few doubtful looking bull's eyes and two very
aged paper backed novelettes. He then returned to the
cottage, threw himself on his bed and slept peacefully,
blissfully unaware that he and his affairs, particularly
Miss Emily Trefusis, were being discussed in various
places all around him.
It is fairly safe to say that there were only three topics
of conversation at present in Sittaford. One was the mur-der,
one was the escape of the convict, and the other
was Miss Emily Trefusis and her cousin. Indeed, at a
certain moment, four separate conversations were going
on with her as their main theme.
Conversation No. was at Sittaford House where Vi-olet
Willett and her mother had just washed up their
own tea things owing to the domestic retreat.
"It was Mrs. Curtis who told me," said Violet.
She still looked pale and wan.
"It's almost a disease the way that woman talks," said
her mother.
"I know. It seems the girl is actually stopping there
with a cousin or something. She did mention this morn-ing
that she was at Mrs. Curtis's, but I thought that that
was simply because Miss Percehouse hadn't room for
her. And now it seems that she'd never even seen Miss
Percehouse till this morning!"
"I dislike that woman intensely," said Mrs. Willett.
"Mrs. Curtis?"
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Agatha Christie
"No, no, the Percehouse woman. That kind of woman
is dangerous. They live for what they can find out about
other people. Sending that girl along here for a recipe
for coffee cake! I'd like to have sent her a poisoned cake.
That would have stopped her interfering for good and
all!"
"I suppose I ought to have realized--" began Violet.
But her mother interrupted her.
"How could you, my dear! And anyway what harm is
done?"
"Why do you think she came here?"
"I don't suppose she had anything definite in mind.
She was just spying out the land. Is Mrs. Curtis sure
about her being engaged to Jim Pearson?"
"The girl told Mr. Rycroft so, I believe. Mrs. Curtis
said she suspected it from the first."
"Well, then the whole thing's natural enough. She's
just looking about aimlessly for something that might
help."
"You didn't see her, mother," said Violet. "She isn't
aimless."
"I wish I had seen her," said Mrs. Willett. "But my
nerves were all to pieces this morning. Reaction, I sup-pose,
after that interview with the police inspector yes-terday."
"You were wonderful, mother. If only I hadn't been
such an utter fool--to go and faint. Oh! I'm ashamed of
myself for giving the whole show away. And there were
you perfectly calm and collected--not turning a hair."
"I'm in pretty good training," said Mrs. Willett in a
hard dry voice. "If you'd been through what I've been
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Murder at Hazelmoor
through--but there, I hope you never will, my child. I
trust and believe that you've got a happy, peaceful li
ahead of you."
Violet shook her head.
"I'm afraid--I'm afraid--"
"Nonsense--and as for saying you gave the show away
by fainting yesterday--nothing of the kind. Don't worry."
"But that Inspector--he's bound to think--"
"That it was the mention of Jim Pearson made you
faint? Yes--he'll think that all right. He's no fool, that
Inspector Narracott. But what if he does? He'll suspect
a connection--and he'll look for it--and he won't find
it."
"You think not?"
"Of course not! How can he? Trust me, Violet dear.
That's cast-iron certainty and, in a way, perhaps that faint
of yours was a lucky happening. We'll think so, anyway."
Conversation No. z was in Major Burnaby's cottage.
It was a somewhat one-sided one, the brunt of it being
borne by Mrs. Curtis, who had been poised for depar-tures
for the last half hour, having dropped in to collect
Major Burnaby's laundry.
"Like my Great Aunt Sarah's Belinda, that's what I
said to Curtis this morning," said Mrs. Curtis trium-phantly.
"A deep one--and one that can twist all the
men round her little finger."
A great grunt from Major Burnaby.
"Engaged to one young man and carrying on with
another," said Mrs. Curtis. "That's my Great Aunt Sar-ah's
Belinda all over. And not for the fun of it, mark you.
It's not just flightiness--she's a deep one. And now young
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Agatha Christie
Mr. Garfield--she'll have him roped ir before you can
say knife. Never have I seen a young gentleman look
more like a sheep than he did this morning--and that's
a sure sign."
She paused for breath.
"Well, well," said Major Burnaby. "Ion't let me keep
you, Mrs. Curtis."
"Curtis will be wanting his tea and tbaat's a fact," said
Mrs. Curtis without moving. "I was nexer one to stand
about gossiping. Get on with your job--tlhat's what I say.
And talking about jobs, what do you say, sir, to a good
turn out."
"No!" said Major Burnaby with force.
"It's a month since it's been done."
"No. I like to know where to lay my and on every-thing.
After one of these turn outs notling's ever put
back in its place."
Mrs. Curtis sighed. She was an impassioned cleaner
and turner out.
"It's Captain Wyatt as could do with a Spring cleaning,"
she observed. "That nasty native of his--what does he
know about cleaning, I should like to know? Nasty black
fellow."
"Nothing better than a native servart," said Major
Burnaby. "They know their job and they don't talk."
Any hint the last sentence might have contained was
lost upon Mrs. Curtis. Her mind had rever'ted to a former
topic.
"Two telegrams she got--two arriving iN half an hour.
Gave me quite a turn it did. But she real them as cool
as anything. And then she told me she was going to
Murder at Hazelmoor
Exeter and wouldn't be back till tomorrow."
"Did she take her young man with her?" inquired the
Major with a gleam of hope.
"No, he's still here. A pleasant spoken young gentleman.
He and she'd make a nice pair."
Grunt from Major Burnaby.
"Well," said Mrs. Curtis. "I'll be getting along."
The Major hardly dared breathe for fear he might
distract her from her purpose. But this time Mrs. Curtis was as good as her word. The door closed behind her.
With a sigh of relief the Major drew forth a pipe and
legan to peruse a prospectus of a certain mine which
yeas couched in terms so blatantly optimistic that it would
have aroused suspicion in any heart but that of a widow
or a retired soldier.
"Twelve per cent," murmured Major Burnaby. "That
sounds pretty good .... "
Next door Captain Wyatt was laying down the law to
Mr. Rycroft.
"Fellows like you," he said, "don't know anything of
tile world. You've never lived. You've never roughed it."
Mr. Rycroft said nothing. It was so difficult not to say
the wrong thing to Captain Wyatt that it was usually
sar not to reply at all.
The Captain leaned over the side of his invalid chair.
"Where's that bitch got to? Nice looking girl," he added.
The association of ideas in his mind was quite natural.
It was less so to Mr. Ryeroft who looked at him in a
scandalized fashion.
"What's she doing here? That's what I want to know?"
demanded Captain Wyatt. "Abdull"
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Agatha Christie
"Sahib?"
"Where's Bully? Has she got out again?"
"She in kitchen, Sahib."
"Well, don't feed her." He sank back in his chair again
and proceeded on his second tack. "What does she want
here? Who's she going to talk to in a place like this? All
you old fogies will bore her stiff. I had a word with her
this morning. Expect she was surprised to find a man
like me in a place like this."
He twisted his mustache.
"She's James Pearson's fiancee," said Mr. Rycroft. "You
know--the man who has been arrested for Trevelyan's
murder."
Wyatt dropped a glass of whiskey he was just raising
to his lips with a crash upon the floor. He immediately
roared for Abdul and cursed him in no measured terms
for not placing a table at a convenient angle to his chair.
He then resumed the conversation.
"So that's who she is. Too good for a counter jumper
like that. A girl like that wants a real man."
"Young Pearson is very good looking," said Mr. Ry-croft.
> "Good looking--good looking--a girl doesn't want a
barber's block. What does that sort of young man who
works in an office every day know of life? What expe-rience
has he had of reality?"
"Perhaps the experience of being tried for murder will
be sufficient reality to last him for some time," said Mr.
Rycroft drily.
"Police sure he did it, eh?"
Murder at Hazelmoor
"They must be fairly sure or they wouldn't have arrested
him."
"Country bumpkins," said Captain Wyatt contemptuously.
"Not quite," said Mr. Rycroft. "Inspector Narracott
struck me this morning as an able and efficient man."
"Where did you see him this morning?"
"He called at my house."
"He didn't call at mine," said Captain Wyatt in an
injured fashion.
"Well, you weren't a close friend of Trevelyan's or
Christie,Agatha - Murder At Hazelmore.doc Page 20
