Agatha Christie - Towards Zero

"Well," he said at last, rousing himself. "Better be off if I'm going."

"Are you taking your car or going by ferry?"

"Oh, ferry. No sense in going a round of fifteen miles. I shall enjoy a bit of a walk."

"It's raining, you know."

"I know. I've got a Burberry." He went towards the door.

"Good night."

In the hall Barrett came to him.

"If you please, sir, will you go up to Lady Tressilian? She wants to see you specially."

Nevile glanced at the clock. It was already ten o'clock.

He shrugged his shoulders and went upstairs and along the corridor to Lady Tressilian's room and tapped on the door. While he waited for her to say come in, he heard the voices of the others in the hall down below. Everybody was going to bed early to-night, it seemed.

"Come in," said Lady Tressilian's clear voice. Nevile went in, shutting the door behind him.

Lady Tressilian was all ready for the night. All the lights were extinguished except one reading-lamp by her bed. She had been reading, but she now laid down the book. She looked at Nevile over the top of her spectacles. It was, somehow, a formidable glance.

"I want to speak to you, Nevile," she said. In spite of himself, Nevile smiled faintly.

"Yes, Headmaster," he said. Lady Tressilian did not smile.

"There are certain things, Nevile, that I will not permit in my house. I have no wish to listen to anybody's private conversations, but if you and your wife insist on shouting at each other exactly under my bedroom windows, I can hardly fail to hear what you say. I gather that you were outlining a plan whereby Kay was to divorce you and in due course you would remarry Audrey. That, Nevile, is a thing you simply cannot do and I will not hear of it for a moment."

Nevile seemed to be making an effort to control his temper.

"I apologise for the scene," he said shortly. "As for the rest of what you say, surely that is my business!"

"No, it is not. You have used my house in order to get into touch with Audrey — or else Audrey has used it — "

"She has done nothing of the sort. She — "

Lady Tressilian stopped him with upraised hand.

"Anyway, you can't do this thing, Nevile. Kay is your wife. She has certain rights of which you cannot deprive her. In this matter I am entirely on Kay's side. You have made your bed and must lie upon it. Your duty now is to Kay and I'm telling you so plainly — "

Nevile took a step forward. His voice rose: "This is nothing whatever to do with you — "

"What is more," Lady Tressilian swept on, regardless of his protest, "Audrey leaves this house to-morrow — "

"You can't do that! I won't stand for it — "

"Don't shout at me, Nevile."

"I tell you I won't have it — "

Somewhere along the passage a door shut …

Alice Bentham, the gooseberry-eyed housemaid, came to Mrs. Spicer, the cook, in some perturbation.

"Oh, Mrs. Spicer, I don't rightly know what I ought to do."

"What's the matter, Alice ?"

"It's Miss Barrett. I took her in her cup of tea over an hour ago. Fast asleep she was, and never woke up, but I didn't like to do much. And then, five minutes ago, I went in again because she hadn't come down and her ladyship's tea all ready and waiting for her to take in. So I went in again and she's sleeping ever so — I can't stir her."

"Have you shaken her?"

"Yes, Mrs. Spicer. I shook her hard — but she just goes on lying there and she's ever such a horrid colour."

"Goodness, she's not dead, is she?"

"Oh, no, Mrs. Spicer, because I can hear her breathing, but it's funny breathing. I think she's ill or something."

"Well, I'll go up and see myself. You take in her ladyship's tea. Better make a fresh pot. She'll be wondering what's happened."

Alice obediently did as she was told, whilst Mrs. Spicer went up to the second floor.

Taking the tray along the corridor, Alice knocked at Lady Tressilian's door. After knocking twice and getting no answer she went in. A moment later there was a crash of broken crockery and a series of wild screams, and Alice came rushing out of the room and down the stairs to where Hurstall was crossing the hall to the dining-room.

"Oh, Mr. Hurstall — there've been burglars and her ladyship's dead — killed — with a great hole in her head and blood everywhere …"

Superintendent Battle had enjoyed his holiday. There were still three days of it to run and he was a little disappointed when the weather changed and the rain fell. Still, what else could you expect in England ? And he'd been extremely lucky up to now.

He was breakfasting with Inspector James Leach, his nephew, when the telephone rang.

"I'll come right along, sir." Jim put the receiver back.

"Serious?" asked Superintendent Battle. He noted the expression on his nephew's face.

"We've got a murder. Lady Tressilian. An old lady, very well known down here, an invalid. Has that house at Saltcreek that hangs right over the cliff."

Battle nodded.

"I'm going along to see the old man" (thus disrespectfully did Leach speak of his Chief Constable). "He's a friend of hers. We're going along together."

As he went to the door he said pleadingly: "You'll give me a hand, won't you, uncle, over this? First case of this kind I've had."

"As long as I'm here, I will. Case of robbery and house-breaking, is it?"

"I don't know yet."

Half an hour later Major Robert Mitchell, the Chief Constable, was speaking gravely to uncle and nephew.

"It's early to say as yet," he said, "but one thing seems clear. This wasn't an outside job. Nothing taken, no signs of breaking in. All the windows and doors found shut this morning."

He looked directly at Battle .

"If I were to ask Scotland Yard, do you think they'd put you on the job? You're on the spot, you see. And then there's your relationship with Leach here. That is, if you're willing. It means cutting the end of your holiday."

"That's all right," said Battle . "As for the other, sir, you'll have to put it up to Sir Edgar" (Sir Edgar Cotton was Assistant Commissioner), "but I believe he's a friend of yours?"

Mitchell nodded.

"Yes, I think I can manage Edgar all right. That's settled, then! I'll get through right away."

He spoke into the telephone: "Get me the Yard."

"You think it's going to be an important case, sir?" asked Battle .

Mitchell said gravely: "It's going to be a case where we don't want the possibility of making a mistake. We want to be absolutely sure of our man — or woman, of course."

Battle nodded. He understood quite well that there was something behind the words.

"Thinks he knows who did it," he said to himself. "And doesn't relish the prospect. Somebody well known and popular, or I'll eat my boots!"

Battle and Leach stood in the doorway of the well-furnished handsome bedroom. On the floor in front of them a police officer was carefully testing for fingerprints the handle of a golf club — a heavy niblick. The head of the club was blood-stained and had one or two white hairs sticking to it.

By the bed Dr. Lazenby, who was police surgeon for the district, was bending over the body of Lady Tressilian.

He straightened up with a sigh.

"Perfectly straightforward. She was hit from in front with terrific force. First blow smashed in the bone and killed her, but the murderer struck again to make sure. I won't give you fancy terms — just the plain horse sense of it."

"How long has she been dead?" asked Leach.

"I'd put it between ten o'clock and midnight."

"You can't go nearer than that?"

"I'd rather not. All sorts of factors to take into account. We don't hang people on rigor mortis nowadays. Not earlier than ten, not later than midnight."