Agatha Christie - The Clocks

‘Just that the game is up, Miss Pebmarsh. I’ve found the headquarters where all the planning is done. Such records and memoranda as are necessary are kept by you on the micro dot system in Braille. The information Larkin got at Portlebury was passed to you. From here it went to its destination by means of Ramsay. He came across when necessary from his house to yours at night by way of the garden. He dropped a Czech coin in your garden one day-’

‘That was careless of him.’

‘We’re all careless at some time or another. Your cover is very good. You’re blind, you work at an institute for disabled children, you keep children’s books in Braille in your house as is only natural-you are a woman of unusual intelligence and personality. I don’t know what is the driving power that animates you-’

‘Say if you like that I am dedicated.’

‘Yes. I thought it might be like that.’

‘And why are you telling me all this? It seems unusual.’

I looked at my watch.

‘You have two hours, Miss Pebmarsh. In two hours’ time members of the special branch will come here and take charge-’

‘I don’t understand you. Why do you come here ahead of your people, to give me what seems to be a warning-’

‘It is a warning. I have come here myself, and shall remain here until my people arrive, to see that nothing leaves this house-with one exception. That exception is you yourself. You have two hours’ start if you choose to go.’

‘But why? Why? ’

I said slowly:

‘Because I think there is an off-chance that you might shortly become my mother-in-law…I may be quite wrong.’

There was a silence. Millicent Pebmarsh got up and went to the window. I didn’t take my eyes off her. I had no illusions about Millicent Pebmarsh. I didn’t trust her an inch. She was blind but even a blind woman can catch you if you are off guard. Her blindness wouldn’t handicap her if she once got her chance to jam an automatic against my spine.

She said quietly:

‘I shall not tell you if you’re right or wrong. What makes you think that-that it might be so?’

‘Eyes.’

‘But we are not alike in character.’

‘No.’

She spoke almost defiantly.

‘I did the best I could for her.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. With you a cause came first.’

‘As it should do.’

‘I don’t agree.’

There was silence again. Then I asked, ‘Did you know who she was-that day?’

‘Not until I heard the name…I had kept myself informed about her-always.’

‘You were never as inhuman as you would have liked to be.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense.’

I looked at my watch again.

‘Time is going on,’ I said.

She came back from the window and across to the desk.

‘I have a photograph of her here-as a child…’

I was behind her as she pulled the drawer open. It wasn’t an automatic. It was a small very deadly knife…

My hand closed over hers and took it away.

‘I may be soft, but I’m not a fool,’ I said.

She felt for a chair and sat down. She displayed no emotion whatever.

‘I am not taking advantage of your offer. What would be the use? I shall stay here until-they come. There are always opportunities-even in prison.’

‘Of indoctrination, you mean?’

‘If you like to put it that way.’

We sat there, hostile to each other, but with understanding.

‘I’ve resigned from the Service,’ I told her. ‘I’m going back to my old job-marine biology. There’s a post going at a university in Australia.’

‘I think you are wise. You haven’t got what it takes for this job. You are like Rosemary’s father. He couldn’t understand Lenin’s dictum: “Away with softness”.’

I thought of Hercule Poirot’s words.

‘I’m content,’ I said, ‘to be human…’

We sat there in silence, each of us convinced that the other’s point of view was wrong.

Letter from Detective Inspector Hardcastle to M. Hercule Poirot

Dear M. Poirot,

We are now in possession of certain facts, and I feel you may be interested to hear about them.

A Mr Quentin Duguesclin of Quebec left Canada for Europe approximately four weeks ago. He has no near relatives and his plans for return were indefinite. His passport was found by the proprietor of a small restaurant in Boulogne, who handed it in to the police. It has not so far been claimed.

Mr Duguesclin was a lifelong friend of the Montresor family of Quebec. The head of that family, Mr Henry Montresor, died eighteen months ago, leaving his very considerable fortune to his only surviving relative, his great-niece Valerie, described as the wife of Josaiah Bland of Portlebury, England. A very reputable firm of London solicitors acted for the Canadian executors. All communications between Mrs Bland and her family in Canada ceased from the time of her marriage of which her family did not approve. Mr Duguesclin mentioned to one of his friends that he intended to look up the Blands while he was in England, since he had always been very fond of Valerie.

The body hitherto identified as that of Henry Castleton has been positively identified as Quentin Duguesclin.

Certain boards have been found stowed away in a corner of Bland’s building yard. Though hastily painted out, the words SNOWFLAKE LAUNDRY are plainly perceptible after treatment by experts.

I will not trouble you with lesser details, but the public prosecutor considers that a warrant can be granted for the arrest of Josaiah Bland. Miss Martindale and Mrs Bland are, as you conjectured, sisters, but though I agree with your views on her participation in these crimes, satisfactory evidence will be hard to obtain. She is undoubtedly a very clever woman. I have hopes, though, of Mrs Bland. She is the type of woman who rats.

The death of the first Mrs Bland through enemy action in France, and his second marriage to Hilda Martindale (who was in the N.A.A.F. I.) also in France can be, I think, clearly established, though many records were, of course, destroyed at that time.

It was a great pleasure meeting you that day, and I must thank you for the very useful suggestions you made on that occasion. I hope the alterations and redecorations of your London flat have been satisfactory.

Yours sincerely,

Richard Hardcastle

Further communication from R.H. to H.P.

Good news! The Bland woman cracked! Admitted the whole thing!!! Puts the blame entirely on her sister and her husband. She ‘never understood until too late what they meant to do’! Thought they were only ‘going to dope him so that he wouldn’t recognize she was the wrong woman’! A likely story! But I’d say it’s true enough that she wasn’t the prime mover.

The Portobello Market people have identified Miss Martindale as the ‘American’ lady who bought two of the clocks.

Mrs McNaughton now says she saw Duguesclin in Bland’s van being driven into Bland’s garage. Did she really?

Our friend Colin has married that girl. If you askme, he’s mad. All the best.

Yours,

Richard Hardcastle