rattled about the Emperor of Peru."
"The Emperor of Peru?" said Mr. Rycroft surprised.
"One of the blinking cats. It's turned out to be an
Empress instead and Aunt Caroline's naturally annoyed
about it. She doesn't like these sex problems--so, as I
say, she got her feelings off her chest by making catty
remarks about the Willetts. Why shouldn't they ask peo-ple
to tea? Trevelyan wasn't a relation, or anything like
that."
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Agatha Christie
"Very true," said Mr. Rycroft turning his head and
examining a bird which flew past and in which he thought
he recognized a rare species.
"How annoying," he murmured. "I haven't got my
glasses with me."
"Eh! I say, talking of Trevelyan, do you think Mrs.
Willett can have known the old boy better than she says?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because of the change in her. Have you ever seen
anything like it? She's aged about twenty years in the
last week. You must have noticed it."
"Yes," said Mr. Rycroft. "I have noticed it."
"Well, there you are. Trevelyan's death must have
been the most frightful shock to her in some way or other.
Queer if she turned out to be the old man's long lost
wife whom he deserted in his youth and didn't recog-nize."
"I hardly think that likely, Mr. Garfield."
"Bit too much of a Movie stunt, eh? All the same very
odd things happen. I've read some really amazing things
in the Daily Wire--things you wouldn't credit if a news-paper
didn't print them."
"Are they any more to be credited on that account?"
inquired Mr. Rycroft acidly.
"You have got a down on young Enderby, haven't
you?" said Ronnie.
"I dislike ill-bred nosing into affairs that do not concern
you," said Mr. Rycroft.
"Yes, but then they do concern him," Ronnie per-sisted.
"I mean nosing about is the poor chap's job. He
seems to have tamed old Burnaby all right. Funny, the
MUrder at Hazelmoor
old boy can hardly bear the sight of me. I'm like a red
rag to a bull to him."
Mr. Rycroft did not reply.
"By Jove," said Ronnie again glancing up at the sky. "Do you realize it's Friday? Just a week ago today at
about this time we were trudging up to the Willetts
just as we are now. But a bit of a change in the
weather."
"A week ago," said Mr. Rycroft. "It seems infinitely
longer."
"More like a bally year, doesn't it? Hullo, Abdul."
They were passing Captain Wyatt's gate over which
the melancholy Indian was leaning.
"Good afternoon, Abdul," said Mr. Rycroft. "How's
your master?"
The native shook his head.
"Master bad today, Sahib. Not see anyone. Not see
anyone for long time."
"You know," said Ronnie as they passed on, "that chap
could murder Wyatt quite easily and no one would know.
He could go on for weeks shaking his head and saying
the master wouldn't see anyone and no one would think
it the least odd."
Mr. Rycroft admitted the truth if the statement.
"But there would still be the problem of the disposal
of the body," he pointed out.
"Yes, that's always the snag, isn't it? Inconvenient thing, a human body."
They passed Major Burnaby's cottage. The Major was
in his garden looking sternly at a weed which was growing
where no weed should be.
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Agatha Christie
"Good afternoon, Major," said Mr. Rycroft. "Are you
also coming to Sittaford House?"
Burnaby rubbed his nose.
"Don't think so. They sent a note asking me. But--well--I
don't feel like it. Expect you'll understand."
Mr. Rycroft bowed his head in token of understanding.
"All the same," he said, "I wish you'd come. I've got
a reason."
"A reason. What sort of a reason?"
Mr. Bycroft hesitated. It was clear that the presence
of Bonnie Garfield constrained him. But Bonnie, com-pletely
oblivious of the i:act, stood his ground listening
with ingenuous interest.
"I'd like to try an experiment," he said at last slowly.
"What sort of experiment?" demanded Burnaby.
Mr. Bycroft hesitated.
"I'd rather not tell you before-hand. But if you come,
I'll ask you to back me up in anything I suggest."
Burnaby's curiosity was aroused.
"All right," he said. "I'll come. You can count on me.
Where's my hat?"
He rejoined them in a minute, hat on head and all
three turned in at the gates of Sittaford House.
"Hear you are expecting company, Bycroft," said Bur-naby
conversationally.
A shade of vexation passed over the older man's face.
"Who told you that?"
"That chattering magpie of a woman, Mrs. Curtis.
She's clean and she's honest, but her tongue never stops,
and she pays no attention to whether you listen or whether
you don't."
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Murder at Hazelmoor
"It's quite true," admitted Mr. Rycroft. "I am ex-pecting
my niece, Mrs. Dering, and her husband, to-morrow."
They had arrived at the front door by now, and on
pressing the bell it was opened to them by Brian Pearson.
As they removed their overcoats in the hall, Mr. Ry-croft
observed the tall broad-shouldered young man with
an interested eye.
"Fine specimen," he thought. "Very fine specimen.
Strong temper. Curious angle of the jaw. Might be a
nasty customer to tackle in certain circumstances. What
you might call a dangerous young nan."
A queer feeling of unreality stole over Major Burnaby
as he entered the drawing-room, and Mrs. Willett rose
to greet him.
"Splendid of you to turn out."
The same words as last week. The same blazing fire
on the hearth. He fancied, but was not sure, the same
gowns on the two women.
It did give one a queer feeling. As though it were last
week again--as though Joe Trevelyan hadn't died--as
though nothing had happened or were changed. Stop,
that was wrong. The Willett woman had changed. A
wreck, that was the only way of describing her. No longer
the prosperous determined woman of the world, but a
broken nervy creature making an obvious and pathetic
effort to appear as usual. °
"But I'm hanged if I can see what Joe's death meant
to her," thought the Major.
For the hundredth time he registered the impression
that there was something deuced odd about the Willetts.
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Agatha Christie
As usual, he awoke to the realization that he was being
silent and that someone was speaking to him.
"Our last little gathering, I am afraid," Mrs. Willett
was saying.
"What's that?" Ronnie Garfield looked up suddenly.
"Yes." Mrs. Willett shook her head with a would-be
smile. "We have got to forego the rest of the winter in
Sittaford. Personally, of course, I love it--the snow and
the tors and the wildness of it all, But the domestic
problem! The domestic problem is too difficult--it de-feats
me!"
"I thought you were going to get a chauffeur butler
and a handy man," said Major Burnaby.
A sudden shiver shook Mrs. Willett's frame.
"No," she said, "I--I have had to give up that idea."
"Dear, dear," said Mr. Rycroft. "This is a great blow
to us all. Very sad indeed. We will sink back into our
little rut after you have gone. When do you go, by the
way?"
"On Monday, I expect," said Mrs. Willett. "Unless I
can get away tomorrow. It's so very awkward with no
servants. Of course, I must arrange things with Mr. Kirk-wood.
I took the house for four months."
"You are going to London?" inquired Mr. Rycroft.
"Yes, probably, to start with anyway. Then I expect
we shall go abroad to the Riviera."
"A great loss," said Mr. Rycroft bowing gallantly.
Mrs. Willett gave a queer aimless little titter.
"Too kind of you, Mr. Rycroft. Well, shall we have
tea?"
Tea was laid ready. Mrs. Willett poured out. Ronnie
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Murder at Hazelmoor
and Brian handed things. A queer kind of embarrassment
lay over the party.
"What about you?" said Burnaby abruptly to Brian
Pearson. "You off too?"
"To London, yes. Naturally I shan't go abroad till this
business is over."
"This business?"
"I mean until my brother is cleared of this ridiculous
charge."
He flung the words at them defiantly in such a chal-lenging
manner that nobody knew quite what to say.
Major Burnaby relieved the situation.
"Never have believed he did it. Not for a moment,"
he said.
"None of us think so," said Violet, flinging him a grate-ful
glance.
The tinkle of a bell broke the ensuing pause.
"That's Mr. Duke," said Mrs. Willett. "Let him in,
Brian."
Young Pearson had gone to the window.
"It's not Duke," he said. "It's that damned journalist."
"Oh! dear," said Mrs. Willett. "Well, I suppose we
must let him in all the same."
Brian nodded and reappeared in a few minutes with
Charles Enderby.
Enderby entered with his usual ingenuous air of beam-ing
satisfaction. The idea that he might not be welcome
did not seem to occur to him.
"Hullo, Mrs. Willett. How are you? Thought I'd just
drop in and see how things were. I wondered where
everyone in Sittaford had got to. Now, I see."
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Agatha Christie
"Have some tea, Mr. Enderby?"
"Awfully kind of you. I will. I see Emily isn't here. I
suppose she's with your aunt, Mr. Garfield."
"Not that I know of," said Ronnie staring. "I thought
she'd gone to Exhampton."
"Ah! but she's back from there. How do I know? A
little bird told me. The Curtis bird, to be accurate. Saw
the car pass the post office and go up the lane and come
back empty. She is not in No. 5 and she's not in Sittaford
House. Puzzle--where is she? Failing Miss Percehouse,
she must be sipping tea with that determined lady killer,
Captain Wyatt."
"She may have gone up Sittaford Beacon to see the
sunset," suggested Mr. Rycroft.
"Don't think so," said Burnaby. "Should have seen her
pass. I've been in the garden for the last hour."
"Well, I don't think it's a very vital problem," said
Charles cheerfully. "I mean I don't think she's been
kidnapped or murdered or anything."
"That's a pity from the point of view of your paper,
isn't it?" sneered Brian.
"Even for copy, I wouldn't sacrifice Emily," said Charles.
"Emily," he added thoughtfully, "is unique."
"Very charming," said Mr. Rycroft. "Very charming.
We are--er--collaborators, she and I."
"Has everyone finished?" said Mrs. Willett. "What
about some bridge?"
"Er--one moment," said Mr. Rycroft.
He cleared his throat importantly. Everyone looked
at him.
"Mrs. Willett, I am, as you know, deeply interested
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Murder at Hazelmoor
in psychic phenomena. A week ago today, in this very
room, we had an amazing, indeed an awe inspiring experience."
There was a faint sound from Violet Willtt. He turned
to her.
"I know, my dear Miss Willett, I know. The experience
upset you, it was upsetting. I do not deny it. Now, ever
since the crime the police force have been seeking the
murderer of Captain Trevelyan. They have made an arrest.
But some of us, at least, in this room, do not believe
that Mr. James Pearson is the guilty party. What I propose
is this, that we repeat the experiment of last Friday,
though approaching it this time in a rather different spirit." "No," cried Violet.
"Oh! I say," said Ronnie. "That's a bit too thick. I'm
not going to join in anyway."
Mr. Rycroft took no notice of him.
"Mrs. Willett, what do you say?"
She hesitated.
"Frankly, Mr. Rycroft, I do not like the idea. I don't
like it at all. That miserable business last week made a
most disagreeable impression on me. It will take me a
long time to forget it."
"What are you getting at exactly?" asked Enderby interestedly.
"Do you propose that the spirits should tell
us the name of Captain Trevelyan's murderer? That seems
a pretty tall order."
"It was a pretty tall order, as you call it, when last
week a message came through saying that Captain Trevelyan
was dead."
"That's true," agreed Enderby. "But--well--you know
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Agatha Christie
this idea of yours might have consequences you haven't
considered."
"Such as?"
"Supposing a name was mentioned? Could you be sure
that someone present did not deliberately--"
He paused and Ronnie Garfield tendered the word.
"Shove. That's what he means. Supposing somebody
goes and shoves."
"This is a serious experiment, sir," said Mr. Rycroft
warmly. "Nobody would do such a thing."
"I don't know," said Ronnie dubiously. "I wouldn't put
it past them. I don't mean myself. I swear I wouldn't,
but suppose everyone turns on me and says I have. Jolly
awkward, you know."
"Mrs. Willett, I am in earnest." The little old gentle-man
disregarded Ronnie. "I beg of you, let us make the
experiment."
She wavered.
"I don't like it. I really don't. I--" She looked round
her uneasily, as though for a way of escape. "Major Bur-naby,
you were Captain Trevelyan's friend. What do you
say?"
The Major's eyes met those of Mr. Rycroft. This, he
understood, was the contingency which the latter had
foreshadowed.
"Why not?" he said gruffly.
It ha
d all the decision of a casting vote.
Ronnie went into the adjoining room and brought the
small table which had been used before. He set it in the
middle of the floor and chairs were drawn up round it.
No one spoke. The experiment was clearly not popular.
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Murder at Hazelmoor
"That is correct, I think," said Mr. Rycroft. "We are
about to repeat the experiment of last Friday under pre-cisely
similar conditions."
"Not precisely similar," objected Mrs. Willett. "Mr.
Duke is missing."
"True," said Mr. Rycroft. "A pity he is not here. A
great pity. Well--er--we must consider him as replaced
by Mr. Pearson."
"Don't take part in it, Brian. I beg of you. Please
Christie,Agatha - Murder At Hazelmore.doc Page 27
