Problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories

by Agatha Christie

  "It seems to have stopped, anyway," he observed.

  He pressed with his thumb, and the lid of the watch flew open. Inside the glass was cracked across.

  "Ah!" he said exultantly.

  The hand pointed to exactly a quarter past six.

  "A very good glass of port, Colonel Melrose," said Mr Quin.

  It was half past nine, and the three men had just finished a belated dinner at Colonel Melrose's house. Mr Satterthwaite was particularly jubilant.

  "I was quite right," he chuckled. "You can't deny it, Mr Quin. You turned up tonight to save two absurd young people who were both bent on putting their heads into a noose."

  "Did I?" said Mr Quin. "Surely not. I did nothing at all."

  "As it turned out, it was not necessary," agreed Mr Satterthwaite. "But it might have been. It was touch and go, you know. I shall never forget the moment when Lady Dwighton said, 'I killed him.' I've never seen anything on the stage half as dramatic."

  "I'm inclined to agree with you," said Mr Quin.

  "Wouldn't have believed such a thing could happen outside a novel," declared the colonel, for perhaps the twentieth time that night.

  "Does it?" asked Mr Quin.

  The colonel stared at him, "Damn it, it happened tonight."

  "Mind you," interposed Mr Satterthwaite, leaning back and sipping his port, "Lady Dwighton was magnificent, quite magnificent, but she made one mistake. She shouldn't have leaped to the conclusion that her husband had been shot. In the same way Delangua was a fool to assume that he had been stabbed just because the dagger happened to be lying on the table in front of us. It was a mere coincidence that Lady Dwighton should have brought it I down with her."

  "Was it?" asked Mr Quin.

  "Now if they'd only confined themselves to saying that they'd killed Sir James, without particularizing how - " went on Mr Satterthwaite - "what would have been the result?"

  "They might have been believed," said Mr Quin with an odd smile.

  "The whole thing was exactly like a novel," said the colonel.

  "That's where they got the idea from, I daresay," said Mr Quin.

  "Possibly," agreed Mr Satterthwaite. "Things one has read do come back to one in the oddest way." He looked across at Mr Quin. "Of course," he said, "the clock really looked suspicious from the first. One ought never to forget how easy it is to put the hands of a clock or watch forward or back."

  Mr Quin nodded and repeated the words. "Forward," he said, and paused. "Or back."

  There was something encouraging in his voice. His bright, dark eyes were fixed on Mr Satterthwaite.

  "The hands of the clock were put forward," said Mr Satterthwaite. "We know that."

  "Were they?" asked Mr Quin.

  Mr Satterthwaite stared at him. "Do you mean," he said slowly, "that it was the watch which was put back? But that doesn't make sense. It's impossible."

  "Not impossible," murmured Mr Quin.

  "Well - absurd. To whose advantage could that be?"

  "Only, I suppose, to someone who had an alibi for that time."

  "By gad!" cried the colonel. "That's the time young Delangua said he was talking to the keeper."

  "He told us that very particularly," said Mr Satterthwaite.

  They looked at each other. They had an uneasy feeling as of solid ground failing beneath their feet. Facts went spinning round, turning new and unexpected faces. And in the centre of the kaleidoscope was the dark, smiling face of Mr Quin.

  "But in that case - " began Melrose " - in that case - "

  Mr Satterthwaite, nimble-witted, finished his sentence for him. "It's all the other way round. A plant just the same - but a plant against the valet. Oh, but it can't be! It's impossible. Why each of them accused themselves of the crime."

  "Yes," said Mr Quin. "Up till then you suspected them, didn't you?" His voice went on, placid and dreamy. "Just like something out of a book, you said, colonel. They got the idea there. It's what the innocent hero and heroine do. Of course it made you think them innocent - there was the force of tradition behind them. Mr Satterthwaite has been saying all along it was like something on the stage. You were both right. It wasn't real. You've been saying so all along without knowing what you were saying. They'd have told a much better story than that if they'd wanted to be believed."

  The two men looked at him helplessly.

  "It would be clever," said Mr Satterthwaite slowly. "It would be diabolically clever. And I've thought of something else. The butler said he went in at seven to shut the windows - so he must have expected them to be open."

  "That's the way Delangua came in,' said Mr Quin. "He killed Sir James with one blow, and he and she together did what they had to do - "

  He looked at Mr Satterthwaite, encouraging him to reconstruct the scene. He did so, hesitatingly.

  "They smashed the clock and put it on its side. Yes. They altered the watch and smashed it. Then he went out of the window, and she fastened it after him. But there's one thing I don't see. Why bother with the watch at all? Why not simply put back the hands of the clock?"

  "The clock was always a little obvious," said Mr Quin. "Anyone might have seen through a rather transparent device like that."

  "But surely the watch was too far-fetched. Why, it was pure chance that we ever thought of the watch."

  "Oh, no," said Mr Quin. "It was the lady's suggestion, remember."

  Mr Satterthwaite stared at him, fascinated.

  "And yet, you know," said Mr Quin dreamily, "the one person who wouldn't be likely to overlook the watch would be the valet. Valets know better than anyone what their masters carry in their pockets. If he altered the clock, the valet would have altered the watch, too. They don't understand human nature, those two. They are not like Mr Satterthwaite."

  Mr Satterthwaite shook his head.

  "I was all wrong," he murmured humbly. "I thought that you had come to save them."

  "So I did," said Mr Quin. "Oh! Not those two - the others. Perhaps you didn't notice the lady's maid? She wasn't wearing blue brocade, or acting a dramatic part. But she's really a very pretty girl, and I think she loves that man Jennings very much. I think that between you you'll be able to save her man from getting hanged."

  "We've no proof of any kind," said Colonel Melrose heavily.

  Mr Quin smiled. "Mr Satterthwaite has."

  "I?" Mr Satterthwaite was astonished.

  Mr Quin went on.

  "You've got a proof that that watch wasn't smashed in Sir James's pocket. You can't smash a watch like that without opening the case. Just try it and see. Someone took the watch out and opened it, set back the hands, smashed the glass, and then shut it and put it back. They never noticed that a fragment of glass was missing."

  "Oh!" cried Mr Satterthwaite. His hand flew to his waist-coat pocket. He drew out a fragment of curved glass.

  It was his moment.

  "With this," said Mr Satterthwaite importantly, "I shall save a man from death."

  NEXT TO A DOG

  The ladylike woman behind the Registry Office table cleared her throat and peered across at the girl who sat opposite.

  "Then you refuse to consider the post? It only came in this morning. A very nice part of Italy, I believe, a widower with a little boy of three and an elderly lady, his mother or aunt."

  Joyce Lambert shook her head.

  "I can't go out of England," she said in a tired voice; "there are reasons. If only you could find me a daily post?"

  Her voice shook slightly - ever so slightly, for she had it well under control. Her dark blue eyes looked appealingly at the woman opposite her.

  "It's very difficult, Mrs. Lambert. The only kind of daily governess required is one who has full qualifications. You have none. I have hundreds on my books - literally hundreds." She paused. "You have someone at home you can't leave?"

  Joyce nodded.

  "A child?"

  "No, not a child." And a faint smile flickered across her face.

  "Well,
it is very unfortunate. I will do my best, of course, but - "

  The interview was clearly at an end. Joyce rose. She was biting her lip to keep the tears from springing to her eyes as she emerged from the frowsy office into the street.

  "You mustn't," she admonished herself sternly. "Don't be a snivelling little idiot. You're panicking - that's what you're doing - panicking. No good ever came of giving way to panic. It's quite early in the day still and lots of things may happen. Aunt Mary ought to be good for a fortnight anyway. Come on, girl, step out, and don't keep your well-to-do relations waiting."

  She walked down Edgware Road, across the park, and then down to Victoria Street, where she turned into the Army and Navy Stores. She went to the lounge and sat down glancing at her watch. It was just half-past one. Five minutes sped by and then an elderly lady with her arms full of parcels bore down upon her.

  "Ah! There you are, Joyce. I'm a few minutes late, I'm afraid. The service is not as good as it used to be in the luncheon room. You've had lunch, of course?"

  Joyce hesitated a minute or two, then she said quietly: "Yes, thank you."

  "I always have mine at half-past twelve," said Aunt Mary, settling herself comfortably with her parcels. "Less rush and a clearer atmosphere. The curried eggs here are excellent."

  "Are they?" said Joyce faintly.

  She felt that she could hardly bear to think of curried eggs - the hot steam rising from them - the delicious smell! She wrenched her thoughts resolutely aside.

  "You look peaky, child," said Aunt Mary, who was herself of a comfortable figure. "Don't go in for this modern fad of eating no meat. All fal-de-lal. A good slice off the joint never did anyone any harm."

  Joyce stopped herself from saying "It wouldn't do me any harm now." If only Aunt Mary would stop talking about food. To raise your hopes by asking you to meet her at half past one and then to talk of curried eggs and slices of roast meat - oh! cruel - cruel.

  "Well, my dear," said Aunt Mary. "I got your letter - and it was very nice of you to take me at my word. I said I'd be pleased to see you anytime and so I should have been - but as it happens, I've just had an extremely good offer to let the house. Quite too good to be missed, and bringing their own plate and linen. Five months. They come in on Thursday and I go to Harrogate. My rheumatism's been troubling me lately."

  "I see," said Joyce. "I'm so sorry."

  "So it'll have to be for another time. Always pleased to see you, my dear."

  "Thank you, Aunt Mary."

  "You know, you do look peaky," said Aunt Mary, considering her attentively. "You're thin, too; no flesh on your bones, and what's happened to your pretty colour? You always had a nice healthy colour. Mind you take plenty of exercise."

  "I'm taking plenty of exercise today," said Joyce grimly. She rose. "Well, Aunt Mary, I must be getting along."

  Back again - through St. James's Park this time, and so on through Berkeley Square and across Oxford Street and up Edgware Road, past Praed Street to the point where the Edgware Road begins to think of becoming something else. Then aside, through a series of dirty little streets till one particular dingy house was reached.

  Joyce inserted her latchkey and entered a small frowsy hall. She ran up the stairs till she reached the top landing. A door faced her and from the bottom of this door a snuffling noise proceeded succeeded in a second by a series of joyful whines and yelps.

  "Yes, Terry darling - it's Missus come home."

  As the door opened, a white body precipitated itself upon the girl - an aged wire-haired terrier very shaggy as to coat and suspiciously bleary as to eyes. Joyce gathered him up in her arms and sat down on the floor.

  "Terry darling! Darling, darling Terry. Love your Missus, Terry; love your Missus a lot!"

  And Terry obeyed, his eager tongue worked busily, he licked her face, her ears, her neck and all the time his stump of a tail wagged furiously.

  "Terry darling, what are we going to do? What's going to become of us? Oh! Terry darling, I'm so tired."

  "Now then, miss," said a tart voice behind her. "If you'll give over hugging and kissing that dog, here's a cup of nice hot tea for you."

  "Oh! Mrs. Barnes, how good of you."

  Joyce scrambled to her feet. Mrs. Barnes was a big, formidable-looking woman. Beneath the exterior of a dragon she concealed an unexpectedly warm heart.

  "A cup of hot tea never did anyone any harm," enunciated Mrs. Barnes, voicing the universal sentiment of her class.

  Joyce sipped gratefully. Her landlady eyed her covertly.

  "Any luck, miss - ma'am, I should say?"

  Joyce shook her head, her face clouded over.

  "Ah!" said Mrs. Barnes with a sigh. "Well, it doesn't seem to be what you might call a lucky day."

  Joyce looked up sharply.

  "Oh, Mrs. Barnes - you don't mean - "

  Mrs. Barnes was nodding gloomily.

  "Yes - it's Barnes. Out of work again. What we're going to do, I'm sure I don't know."

  "Oh, Mrs. Barnes - I must - I mean you'll want - "

  "Now don't you fret, my dear. I'm not denying but that I'd be glad if you'd found something - but if you haven't - you haven't. Have you finished that tea? I'll take the cup."

  "Not quite."

  "Ah!" said Mrs. Barnes accusingly. "You're going to give what's left to that dratted dog - I know you."

  "Oh, please, Mrs. Barnes. Just a little drop. You don't mind really, do you?"

  "It wouldn't be any use if I did. You're crazy about that cantankerous brute. Yes, that's what I say - and that's what he is. As near as nothing bit me this morning, he did."

  "Oh, no, Mrs. Barnes! Terry wouldn't do such a thing."

  "Growled at me - showed his teeth. I was just trying to see if there was anything could be done to those shoes of yours."

  "He doesn't like anyone touching my things. He thinks he ought to guard them."

  "Well, what does he want to think for? It isn't a dog's business to think. He'd be well enough in his proper place, tied up in the yard to keep off burglars. All this cuddling! He ought to be put away, miss - that's what I say."

  "No, no, no. Never. Never!"

  "Please yourself," said Mrs. Barnes. She took the cup from the table, retrieved the saucer from the floor where Terry had just finished his share, and stalked from the room.

  "Terry," said Joyce. "Come here and talk to me. What are we going to do, my sweet?"

  She settled herself in the rickety armchair, with Terry on her knees. She threw off her hat and leaned back. She put one of Terry's paws on each side of her neck and kissed him lovingly on his nose and between his eyes. Then she began talking to him in a soft low voice, twisting his ears gently between her fingers.

  "What are we going to do about Mrs. Barnes, Terry? We owe her four weeks - and she's such a lamb, Terry - such a lamb. She'd never turn us out. But we can't take advantage of her being a lamb, Terry. We can't do that. Why does Barnes want to be out of work? I hate Barnes. He's always getting drunk. And if you're always getting drunk, you are usually out of work. But I don't get drunk, Terry, and yet I'm out of work.

  "I can't leave you, darling. I can't leave you. There's not even anyone I could leave you with - nobody who'd be good to you. You're getting old, Terry - twelve years old - and nobody wants an old dog who's rather blind and a little deaf and a little - yes, just a little - bad-tempered. You're sweet to me, darling, but you're not sweet to everyone, are you? You growl. It's because you know the world's turning against you. We've just got each other, haven't we, darling?"

  Terry licked her cheek delicately.

  "Talk to me, darling."

  Terry gave a long lingering groan - almost a sigh, then be nuzzled his nose in behind Joyce's ear.

  "You trust me, don't you, angel? You know I'd never leave you. But what are we going to do? We're right down to it now, Terry."

  She settled back further in the chair, her eyes half closed.

  "Do you remember, Terry, all the happy time
s we used to have? You and I and Michael and Daddy. Oh, Michael - Michael! It was his first leave, and he wanted to give me a present before he went back to France. And I told him not to be extravagant. And then we were down in the country - and it was all a surprise. He told me to look out of the window, and there you were, dancing up the path on a long lead. The funny little man who brought you, a little man who smelt of dogs. How he talked. 'The goods, that's what he is. Look at him, ma'am, ain't he a picture? I said to myself, as soon as the lady and gentleman see him they'll say: "That dog's the goods!"'

  "He kept on saying that - and we called you that for quite a long time - the Goods! Oh, Terry, you were such a darling of a puppy, with your little head on one side, wagging your absurd tail! And Michael went away to France and I had you - the darlingest dog in the world. You read all Michael's letters with me, didn't you? You'd sniff them, and I'd say - 'From Master,' and you'd understand. We were so happy - so happy. You and Michael and I. And now Michael's dead, and you're old, and I - I'm so tired of being brave."

  Terry licked her.

  "You were there when the telegram came. If it hadn't been for you, Terry - if I hadn't had you to hold on to..."

  She stayed silent for some minutes.

  "And we've been together ever since - been through all the ups and downs together - there have been a lot of downs, haven't there? And now we've come right up against it. There are only Michael's aunts, and they think I'm all right. They don't know he gambled that money away. We must never tell anyone that. I don't care - why shouldn't he? Everyone has to have some fault. He loved us both, Terry, and that's all that matters. His own relations were always inclined to be down on him and to say nasty things. We're not going to give them the chance. But I wish I had some relations of my own. It's very awkward having no relations at all.

  "I'm so tired, Terry - and remarkably hungry. I can't believe I'm only twenty-nine - I feel sixty-nine. I'm not really brave - I only pretend to be. And I'm getting awfully mean ideas. I walked all the way to Ealing yesterday to see Cousin Charlotte Green. I thought if I got there at half-past twelve she'd be sure to ask me to stop to lunch. And then when I got to the house, I felt it was too cadging for anything. I just couldn't. So I walked all the way back. And that's foolish. You should be a determined cadger or else not even think of it. I don't think I'm a strong character."