Agatha Christie: N or M

Tommy gripped her arm suddenly.

"Look," he said. "Look ahead of you."

By the corner of one of the shelters a young man stood talking to a girl. They were both very earnest, very wrapped up in what they were saying.

Tuppence said softly:

"Carl von Deinim. Who's the girl, I wonder?"

"She's remarkably good looking, whoever she is."

Tuppence nodded. Her eyes dwelt thoughtfully on the dark passionate face, and on the tight-fitting pullover that revealed the lines of the girl's figure. She was talking earnestly, with emphasis. Carl von Deinim was listening to her.

Tuppence murmured:

"I think this is where you leave me."

"Right," agreed Tommy.

He turned and strolled in the opposite direction.

At the end of the promenade he encountered Major Bletchley. The latter peered at him suspiciously and then grunted out, "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"See you're like me, an early riser," remarked Bletchley.

Tommy said:

"One gets in the habit of it out East. Of course, that's many years ago now, but I still wake early."

"Quite right, too," said Major Bletchley with approval. "God, these young fellows nowadays make me sick. Hot baths - coming down to breakfast at ten o'clock or later. No wonder the Germans have been putting it over on us. No stamina. Soft lot of young pups. Army's not what it was, anyway. Coddle 'em, that's what they do nowadays. Tuck 'em up at night with hot water bottles. Faugh! Makes me sick!"

Tommy shook his head in a melancholy fashion and Major Bletchley, thus encouraged, went on.

"Discipline, that's what we need. Discipline. How are we going to win the war without discipline? Do you know, sir, some of these fellows come on parade in slacks - so I've been told. Can't expect to win a war that way. Slacks! My God!"

Mr Meadowes hazarded the opinion that things were very different from what they had been.

"It's all this democracy," said Major Bletchley gloomily. "You can overdo anything. In my opinion they're overdoing the democracy business. Mixing up the officers and the men, feeding together in restaurants - Faugh! - the men don't like it, Meadowes. The troops know. The troops always know."

"Of course," said Mr Meadowes, "I have no real knowledge of Army matters myself -"

The Major interrupted him, shooting a quick sideways glance. "In the show in the last war?"

"Oh yes."

"Thought so. Saw you'd been drilled. Shoulders. What regiment?"

"Fifth Corfeshires." Tommy remembered to produce Meadowes' military record.

"Ah yes, Salonica!"

"Yes."

"I was in Mespot."

Bletchley plunged into reminiscences. Tommy listened politely. Bletchley ended up wrathfully.

"And will they make use of me now? No, they will not. Too old. Too old be damned. I could teach one or two of these young cubs something about war."

"Even if it's only what not to do?" suggested Tommy with a smile.

"Eh, what's that?"

A sense of humour was clearly not Major Bletchley's strong suit. He peered suspiciously at his companion. Tommy hastened to change the conversation.

"Know anything about that Mrs - Blenkensop - I think her name is?"

"That's right, Blenkensop. Not a bad looking woman - bit long in the tooth - talks too much. Nice woman, but foolish. No, I don't know her. She's only been at Sans Souci a couple of days." He added: "Why do you ask?"

Tommy explained.

"Happened to meet her just now. Wondered if she was always out as early as this?"

"Don't know, I'm sure. Women aren't usually given to walking before breakfast - thank God," he added.

"Amen," said Tommy. He went on: "I'm not much good at making polite conversation before breakfast. Hope I wasn't rude to the woman, but I wanted my exercise."

Major Bletchley displayed instant sympathy,

"I'm with you, Meadowes. I'm with you. Women are all very well in their place, but not before breakfast." He chuckled a little. "Better be careful, old man. She's a widow, you know."

"Is she?"

The Major dug him cheerfully in the ribs.

"We know what widows are. She's buried two husbands and if you ask me, she's on the look-out for number three. Keep a very wary eye open, Meadowes. A wary eye. That's my advice."

And in high good humour Major Bletchley wheeled about at the end of the parade and set the pace for a smart walk back to breakfast at Sans Souci.

In the meantime, Tuppence had gently continued her walk along the esplanade, passing quite close to the shelter and the young couple talking there. As she passed she caught a few words. It was the girl speaking.

"But you must be careful, Carl. The very least suspicion -"

Tuppence was out of earshot. Suggestive words? Yes, but capable of any number of harmless interpretations. Unobtrusively she turned and again passed the two. Again words floated to her.

"Smug, detestable English..."

The eyebrows of Mrs Blenkensop rose ever so slightly. Hardly, she thought, a very wise conversation. Carl von Deinim was a refugee from Nazi persecution, given asylum and shelter by England. Neither wise nor grateful to listen assentingly to such words.

Again Tuppence turned. But this time, before she reached the shelter, the couple had parted abruptly, the girl to cross the road leaving the sea front, Carl von Deinim to come along in Tuppence's direction.

He would not, perhaps, have recognized her but for her own pause and hesitation. Then quickly, he brought his heels together and bowed.

Tuppence twittered at him:

"Good morning, Mr von Deinim, isn't it? Such a lovely morning."

"Ah, yes. The weather is fine."

Tuppence ran on.

"It quite tempted me. I don't often come out before breakfast. But this morning, what with not sleeping very well - one often doesn't sleep well in a strange place, I find. It takes a day or two to accustom oneself, I always say."

"Oh yes, no doubt that is so."

"And really this little walk has quite given me an appetite for breakfast."

"You go back to Sans Souci now? If you permit I will walk with you." He walked gravely by her side.

Tuppence said:

"You also are out to get an appetite?"

Gravely, he shook his head.

"Oh, no. My breakfast I have already had it. I am on my way to work."

"Work?"

"I am a research chemist."

So that's what you are, thought Tuppence, stealing a quick glance at him.

Carl von Deinim went on, his voice stiff.

"I came to this country to escape Nazi persecution. I have very little money - no friends. I do now what useful work I can."

He stared straight ahead of him. Tuppence was conscious of some undercurrent of strong feeling moving him powerfully.

She murmured vaguely:

"Oh, yes, I see. I see. Very creditable, I am sure."

Carl von Deinim said:

"My two brothers are in concentration camps. My father died in one. My mother died of sorrow and fear."

Tuppence thought:

"The way he says that - as though he had learned it by heart."

Again she stole a quick glance at him. He was still staring ahead of him, his face impassive.

They walked in silence for some moments. Two men passed them. One of them shot a quick glance at Carl. She heard him mutter to his companion:

"Bet you that fellow is a German."

Tuppence saw the colour rise in Carl von Deinim's cheeks.

Suddenly he lost command of himself. That tide of hidden emotion came to the surface. He stammered:

"You heard - you heard - that is what they say - I -"

"My dear boy!" Tuppence reverted suddenly to her real self. Her voice was crisp and compelling. "Don't be an idiot. You can't have it both ways."

He turned his head and stared at her.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a refugee. You have to take the rough with the smooth. You're alive, that's the main thing. Alive and free. For the other - realize that it's inevitable. This country's at war. You're a German." She smiled suddenly. "You can't expect the mere man in the street - literally the man in the street - to distinguish between bad Germans and good Germans, if I may put it so crudely."