Why Didn't They Ask Evans

by Agatha Christie

  'Mr Cayman,' said Frankie immediately. 'Where did you get it?' 'Last night. It had slipped down behind the telephone.' 'Then it seems pretty clear who Mr and Mrs Templeton were. Wait a minute.' A waitress had just approached, bearing toast. Frankie displayed the photograph.

  'Do you know who that is?' she asked.

  The waitress regarded the photograph, her head a little on one side.

  'Now, I've seen the gentleman - but I can't quite call to mind. Oh! yes, it's the gentleman who had Tudor Cottage - Mr Templeton. They've gone away now - somewhere abroad, I believe.' 'What sort of man was he?' asked Frankie.

  'I really couldn't say. They didn't come down here very often - just weekends now and then. Nobody saw much of him.

  Mrs Templeton was a very nice lady. But they hadn't had Tudor Cottage very long - Only about six months - when a very rich gentleman died and left Mrs Templeton all his money and they went to live abroad. They never sold Tudor Cottage, though. I think they sometimes lend it to people for weekends.

  But I don't suppose with all that money they'll ever come back here and live in it themselves.' 'They had a cook called Rose Chudleigh, didn't they?' asked Frankie.

  But the girl seemed uninterested in cooks. Being left a fortune by a rich gentleman was what really stirred her imagination. In answer to Frankie's question she replied that she couldn't say, she was sure, and withdrew carrying an empty toast-rack.

  'That's all plain sailing,' said Frankie. 'The Caymans have given up coming here, but they keep the place on for the convenience of the gang.' They agreed to divide the labour as Bobby had suggested.

  Frankie went off in the Bentley, having smartened herself up by a few local purchases, and Bobby went off in quest of Albeit Mere, the gardener.

  They met at lunch time.

  'Well?' demanded Bobby.

  Frankie shook her head.

  'Forgery's out of the question.' She spoke in a dispirited voice. 'I spent a long time with Mr Elford - he's rather an old dear. He'd got wind of our doings last night and was wild to hear a few details. I don't suppose they get much excitement down here. Anyway, I soon got him eating out of my hand.

  Then I discussed the Savage case - pretended I'd met some of the Savage relations and that they'd hinted at forgery. At that my old dear bristled up - absolutely out of the question! It wasn't a question of letters or anything like that. He saw Mr Savage himself and Mr Savage insisted on the will being drawn up then and there. Mr Elford wanted to go away and do it properly - you know how they do - sheets and sheets all about nothing ' 'I don't know,' said Bobby. 'I've never made any wills.' 'I have - two. The second was this morning. I had to have some excuse for seeing a lawyer.' 'Who did you leave your money to?' 'You.' 'That was a bit thoughtless, wasn't it? If Roger Bassingtonffrench succeeded in bumping you off I should probably be hanged for it!' 'I never thought of that,' said Frankie. 'Well, as I was saying, Mr Savage was so nervous and wrought up that Mr Elford wrote out the will then and there and the servant and the gardener came and witnessed it, and Mr Elford took it away with him for safe keeping.' 'That does seem to knock out forgery,' agreed Bobby.

  'I know. You can't have forgery when you've actually seen the man sign his name. As to the other business - murder, it's going to be hard to find out anything about that now. The doctor who was called in has died since. The man we saw last night is a new man - he's only been here about two months.' 'We seem to have rather an unfortunate number of deaths,' said Bobby.

  'Why, who else is dead?' 'Albert Mere.' 'Do you think they've all been put out of the way?' 'That seems rather wholesale. We might give Albert Mere the benefit of the doubt - he was seventy-two, poor old man.' 'All right,' said Frankie. 'I'll allow you Natural Causes in his case. Any luck with Rose Chudleigh?' 'Yes. After she left the Templetons she went to the north of England to a place, but she's come back and married a man down here whom it seems she's been walking out with for the last seventeen years. Unfortunately she's a bit of a nitwit. She doesn't seem to remember anything about anyone. Perhaps you could do something with her.' 'I'll have a go,' said Frankie. 'I'm rather good with nitwits.

  Where's Badger, by the way?' 'Good Lord! I've forgotten all about him,' said Bobby. He got up and left the room, returning a few minutes later.

  'He was still asleep,' he explained. 'He's getting up now. A chambermaid seems to have called him four times but it didn't make any impression.' 'Well, we'd better go and see the nitwit,' said Frankie, rising.

  'And then I must buy a toothbrush and a nightgown and a sponge and a few other necessities of civilized existence. I was so close to Nature last night that I didn't think about any of them. I just stripped off my outer covering and fell upon the bed.' 'I know,' said Bobby. 'So did I.' 'Let's go and talk to Rose Chudleigh,' said Frankie.

  Rose Chudleigh, now Mrs Pratt, lived in a small cottage that seemed to be overflowing with china dogs and furniture. Mrs Pratt herself was a bovine-looking woman of ample proportions, with fish-like eyes and every indication of adenoids.

  'You see, I've come back,' said Bobby breezily.

  Mrs Pratt breathed hard and looked at them both incuriously.

  'We were so interested to hear that you had lived with Mrs Templeton,' explained Frankie.

  'Yes, ma'am,' said Mrs Pratt.

  'She's living abroad now, I believe,' continued Frankie, trying to give an impression of being an intimate of the family.

  'I've heard so,' agreed Mrs Pratt.

  'You were with her some time, weren't you?' asked Frankie.

  'Were I which, ma'am?' 'With Mrs Templeton some time,' said Frankie, speaking slowly and clearly.

  'I wouldn't say that, ma'am. Only two months.' 'Oh! I thought you'd been with her longer than that.' 'That was Gladys, ma'am. The house-parlourmaid. She was there six months.' 'There were two of you?' 'That's right. House-parlourmaid she was and I was cook.' 'You were there when Mr Savage died, weren't you?' 'I beg your pardon, ma'am.' 'You were there when Mr Savage died?' 'Mr Templeton didn't die - at least I haven't heard so. He went abroad.' 'Not Mr Templeton - Mr Savage,' said Bobby.

  Mrs Pratt looked at him vacantly.

  'The gentleman who left her all the money,' said Frankie.

  A gleam of something like intelligence passed across Mrs Pratt's face.

  'Oh! yes, ma'am, the gentleman there was the inquest on.' 'That's right,' said Frankie, delighted with her success. 'He used to come and stay quite often, didn't he?' 'I couldn't say as to that, ma'am. I'd only just come, you see.

  Gladys would know.' 'But you had to witness his will, didn't you?' Mrs Pratt looked blank.

  'You went and saw him sign a paper and you had to sign it, too.' Again the gleam of intelligence.

  'Yes, ma'am. Me and Albert. I'd never done such a thing before and I didn't like it. I said to Gladys I don't like signing a paper and that's a fact, and Gladys, she said it must be all right because Mr Elford was there and he was a very nice gentleman as well as being a lawyer.' 'What happened exactly?' asked Bobby.

  'I beg your pardon, sir?' 'Who called you to sign your name?' asked Frankie.

  'The mistress, sir. She came into the kitchen and said would I go outside and call Albert and would we both come up to the best bedroom (which she'd moved out of for Mr - the gentleman - the night before) and there was the gentleman sitting up in bed - he'd come back from London and gone straight to bed - and a very ill-looking gentleman he was. I hadn't seen him before. But he looked something ghastly, and Mr Elford was there, too, and he spoke very nice and said there was nothing to be afraid of and I was to sign my name where the gentleman had signed his, and I did and put "cook" after it and the address and Albeit did the same and I went down to Gladys all of a tremble and said I'd never seen a gentleman look so like death, and Gladys said he'd looked all right the night before, and that it must have been something in London that had upset him. He'd gone up to London very early before anyone was up.

  And then I said about not liking to write my name to anythin
g, and Gladys said it was all right because Mr Elford was there.' 'And Mr Savage - the gentleman died - when?' 'Next morning as ever was, ma'am. He shut himself up in his room that night and wouldn't let anyone go near him, and when Gladys called him in the morning he was all stiff and dead and a letter propped up by his bedside. "To the Coroner," it said. Oh! it gave Gladys a regular turn. And then there was an inquest and everything. About two months later Mrs Templeton told me she was going abroad to live. But she got me a very good place up north with big wages and she gave me a nice present and everything. A very nice lady, Mrs Templeton.' Mrs Pratt was by now thoroughly enjoying her own loquacity.

  Frankie rose.

  'Well,' she said. 'It's been very nice to hear all this.' She slipped a note out of her purse. 'You must let me leave you a er - little present. I've taken up so much of your time.' 'Well, thank you kindly, I'm sure, ma'am. Good day to you and your good gentleman.' Frankie blushed and retreated rather rapidly. Bobby followed her after a few minutes. He looked preoccupied.

  'Well,' he said. 'We seem to have got at all she knows.' 'Yes,' said Frankie. 'And it hangs together. There seems no doubt that Savage did make that will, and I suppose his fear of cancer was genuine enough. They couldn't very well bribe a Harley Street doctor. I suppose they just took advantage of his having made that will to do away with him quickly before he changed his mind. But how we or anyone else can prove they did make away with him I can't see.' 'I know. We may suspect that Mrs T gave him "something to make him sleep", but we can't prove it. Bassingtonffrench may have forged the letter to the coroner, but that again we can't prove by now. I expect the letter is destroyed long ago after being put in as evidence at the inquest.' 'So we come back to the old problem - what on earth are Bassington-ffrench and Co. so afraid of our discovering?' 'Nothing strikes you as odd particularly?' 'No, I don't think so - at least only one thing. Why did Mrs Templeton send out for the gardener to come and witness the will when the house-parlourmaid was in the house. Why didn't they ask the parlourmaid?' 'It's odd your saying that, Frankie,' said Bobby.

  His voice sounded so queer that Frankie looked at him in surprise.

  'Why?' 'Because I stayed behind to ask Mrs Pratt for Gladys's name and address.' 'Well?' 'The parlourmaid's name was Evans!'

  CHAPTER 32 Evans

  Frankie gasped.

  Bobby's voice rose excitedly.

  'You see, you've asked the same question that Carstairs asked. Why didn't they ask the parlourmaid? Why didn't they ask Evans?' 'Ohi Bobby, we're getting there at last'' 'The same thing must have struck Carstairs. He was nosing round, just as we were, looking for something fishy - and this point struck him just as it struck us. And, moreover, I believe he came to Wales for that reason. Gladys Evans is a Welsh name - Evans was probably a Welsh girl. He was following her to Marchbolt. And someone was following him - and so, he never got to her.' 'Why didn't they ask Evans?' said Frankie. 'There must be a reason. It's such a silly little point - and yet it's important. With a couple of maids in the house, why send out for a gardener?' 'Perhaps because both Chudleigh and Albert Mere were chumps, whereas Evans was rather a sharp girl.' 'It can't be only that. Mr Elford was there and he's quite shrewd. Oh! Bobby, the whole situation is there - I know it is.

  If we could just get at the reason. Evans. Why Chudleigh and Mere and not Evans?' Suddenly she stopped and put both hands over her eyes.

  'It's coming,' she said. 'Just a sort of flicker. It'll come in a minute.' She stayed dead still for a minute or two, then removed her hands and looked at her companion with an odd flicker in her eyes.

  'Bobby,' she said, 'if you're staying in a house with two servants which do you tip?' 'The house-parlourmaid, of course,' said Bobby, surprised.

  'One never tips a cook. One never sees her, for one thing.' 'No, and she never sees you. At least she might catch a glimpse of you if you were there some rime. But a houseparlourmaid waits on you at dinner and calls you and hands you coffee.' 'What are you getting at, Frankie?' 'They couldn't have Evans witnessing that will - because Evans would have known that it wasn't Mr Savage who was making it' 'Good Lord, Frankie, what do you mean? Who was it then?' 'Bassington-ffrench, of course! Don't you see, he impersonated Savage? I bet it was Bassington-ffrench who went to that doctor and made all that fuss about having cancer. Then the lawyer is sent for - a stranger who doesn't know Mr Savage but who will be able to swear that he saw Mr Savage sign that will and it's witnessed by two people, one of whom hadn't seen him before and the other an old man who was probably pretty blind and who probably had never seen Savage either. Now do you see?' 'But where was the real Savage all that time?' 'Oh! he arrived all right and then I suspect they drugged him and put him in the attic, perhaps, and kept him there for twelve hours while Bassington-ffrench did his impersonation stunt.

  Then he was put back in his bed and given chloral and Evans finds him dead in the morning.' 'My God, I believe you've hit it, Frankie. But can we prove it?' 'Yes - no - I don't know. Supposing Rose Chudleigh - Pratt, I mean - was shown a photograph of the real Savage? Would she be able to say, "that wasn't the man who signed the will"?' 'I doubt it,' said Bobby. 'She is such a nitwit.' 'Chosen for that purpose, I expect. But there's another thing. An expert ought to be able to detect that the signature is a forgery.' 'They didn't before.' 'Because nobody ever raised the question. There didn't seem any possible moment when the will could have been forged. But now it's different.' 'One thing we must do,' said Bobby. 'Find Evans. She may be able to tell us a lot. She was with the Templetons for six months, remember,' Frankie groaned.

  'That's going to make it even more difficult.' 'How about the post office?' suggested Bobby.

  They were just passing it. In appearance it was more of a general store than a post office.

  Frankie darted inside and opened the campaign. There was no one else in the shop except the postmistress - a young woman with an inquisitive nose.

  Frankie bought a two-shilling book of stamps, commented on the weather and then said: 'But I expect you always have better weather here than we do in my part of the world. I live in Wales - Marchbolt. You wouldn't believe the rain we have.' The young woman with the nose said that they had a good deal of rain themselves and last Bank Holiday it had rained something cruel.

  Frankie said: 'There's someone in Marchbolt who comes from this part of the world. I wonder if you know her. Her name was Evans - Gladys Evans.' The young woman was quite unsuspicious.

  'Why, of course,' she said. She was in service here. At Tudor Cottage. But she didn't come from these parts. She came from Wales and she went back there and married - Roberts her name is now.' 'That's right,' said Frankie. 'You can't give me her address, I suppose? I borrowed a raincoat from her and forgot to give it back. If I had her address I'd post it to her.' 'Well now,' the other replied, 'I believe I can. I get a p.c. from her now and again. She and her husband have gone into service together. Wait a minute now.' She went away and rummaged in a corner. Presently she returned with a piece of paper in her hand.

  'Here you are,' she said, pushing it across the counter.

  Bobby and Frankie read it together. It was the last thing in the world they expected.

  'Mrs Roberts, The Vicarage, Marchbolt, Wales.'

  CHAPTER 33 Sensation in the Orient Cafe

  How Bobby and Frankie got out of the post office without disgracing themselves neither of them ever knew.

  Outside, with one accord, they looked at each other and shook with laugher.

  'At the Vicarage - all the time!' gasped Bobby.

  'And I looked through four hundred and eighty Evans,' lamented Frankie.

  'Now I see why Bassington-ffrench was so amused when he realized we didn't know in the least who Evans was!' 'And of course it was dangerous from their point of view.

  You and Evans were actually under the same roof.' 'Come on,' said Bobby. 'Marchbolt's the next place.' 'Like where the rainbow ends,' said Frankie. 'Back to the dear old home.' 'Dash it all,' said Bobby, 'we must do
something about Badger. Have you any money, Frankie?' Frankie opened her bag and took out a handful of notes.

  'Give these to him and tell him to make some arrangement with his creditors and that Father will buy the garage and put him in as manager.' 'All right,' said Bobby. 'The great thing is to get off quickly.' 'Why this frightful haste?' 'I don't know - but I've a feeling something might happen.' 'How awful. Let's go ever so quickly.' 'I'll settle Badger. You go and start the car.' 'I shall never buy that toothbrush,' said Frankie.

  Five minutes saw them speeding out of Chipping Somerton.

  Bobby had no occasion to complain of lack of speed.

  Nevertheless, Frankie suddenly said: 'Look here, Bobby, this isn't quick enough.' Bobby glanced at the speedometer needle, which was, at the moment, registering eighty, and remarked dryly: 'I don't see what more we can do.' 'We can take an air taxi,' said Frankie. 'We're only about seven miles from Medeshot Aerodrome.' 'My dear girl!' said Bobby.

  'If we do that we'll be home in a couple of hours.' 'Good,' said Bobby. 'Let's take an air taxi.' The whole proceedings were beginning to take on the fantastic character of a dream. Why this wild hurry to get to Marchbolt? Bobby didn't know. He suspected that Frankie didn't know either. It was just a feeling.

  At Medeshot Frankie asked for Mr Donald King and an untidy-looking young man was produced who appeared languidly surprised at the sight of her.