Agatha Christie: N or M

He still stared at her. His eyes, so very blue, were poignant with suppressed feeling. Then, suddenly, he too smiled. He said:

"They said of Red Indians, did they not, that a good Indian was a dead Indian?" He laughed. "To be a good German I must be on time at my work. Please. Good morning."

Again that stiff bow. Tuppence stared after his retreating figure. She said to herself:

"Mrs Blenkensop, you had a lapse there. Strict attention to business in future. Now for breakfast at Sans Souci."

The hall door of Sans Souci was open. Inside, Mrs Perenna was conducting a vigorous conversation with someone.

"And you'll tell him what I think of that last lot of margarine. Get the cooked ham at Quiller's - it was twopence cheaper last time there, and be careful about the cabbages -" She broke off as Tuppence entered.

"Oh, good morning, Mrs Blenkensop, you are an early bird. You haven't had breakfast yet. It's all ready in the dining room." She added, indicating her companion: "My daughter Sheila. You haven't met her. She's been away and only came home last night."

Tuppence looked with interest at the vivid, handsome face. No longer full of tragic energy, bored now and resentful. "My daughter Sheila." Sheila Perenna.

Tuppence murmured a few pleasant words and went into the dining room. There were three people breakfasting - Mrs Sprot and her baby girl, and big Mrs O'Rourke. Tuppence said, "Good morning" and Mrs O'Rourke replied with a hearty, "The top of the morning to you" that quite drowned Mrs Sprot's more anaemic salutation.

The old woman stared at Tuppence with a kind of devouring interest.

"'Tis a fine thing to be out walking before breakfast," she observed. "A grand appetite it gives you."

Mrs Sprot said to her offspring:

"Nice bread and milk, darling," and endeavoured to insinuate a spoonful into Miss Betty Sprot's mouth.

The latter cleverly circumvented this endeavour by an adroit movement of her head, and continued to stare at Tuppence with large round eyes.

She pointed a milky finger at the newcomer, gave her a dazzling smile and observed in gurgling tones: "Ga - Ga Bouch."

"She likes you," cried Mrs Sprot, beaming on Tuppence as on one marked out for favour. "Sometimes she's so shy with strangers."

"Bouch," said Betty Sprot. "Ah pooth ah bag," she added with emphasis.

"And what would she be meaning by that?" demanded Mrs O'Rourke, with interest.

"She doesn't speak awfully clearly yet," confessed Mrs Sprot. "She's only just over two, you know. I'm afraid most of what she says is just bosh. She can say Mama, though, can't you, darling?"

Betty looked thoughtfully at her mother and remarked with an air of finality:

"Cuggle bick."

"'Tis a language of their own they have, the little angels," boomed out Mrs O'Rourke. "Betty darling, say Mama now."

Betty looked hard at Mrs O'Rourke, frowned and observed with terrific emphasis: "Nazer -"

"There now, if she isn't doing her best! And a lovely sweet girl she is."

Mrs O'Rourke rose, beamed in a ferocious manner at Betty, and waddled heavily out of the room.

"Ga, ga ga," said Betty with enormous satisfaction, and beat with a spoon on the table.

Tuppence said with a twinkle:

"What does Na-zer really mean?"

Mrs Sprot said with a flush: "I'm afraid, you know, it's what Betty says when she doesn't like anyone or anything."

"I rather thought so," said Tuppence.

Both women laughed.

"After all," said Mrs Sprot, "Mrs O'Rourke means to be kind but she is rather alarming - with that deep voice and the beard and - and everything."

With her head on one side Betty made a cooing noise at Tuppence.

"She has taken to you, Mrs Blenkensop," said Mrs Sprot.

There was a slight jealous chill, Tuppence fancied, in her voice. Tuppence hastened to adjust matters.

"They always like a new face, don't they?" she said easily.

The door opened and Major Bletchley and Tommy appeared. Tuppence became arch.

"Ah, Mr Meadowes," she called out. "I've beaten you, you see. First past the post. But I've left you just a little breakfast!"

She indicated with the faintest of gestures the seat beside her.

Tommy, muttering vaguely: "Oh, er - rather - thanks," sat down at the other end of the table.

Betty Sprot said "Putch!" with a fine splutter of milk at Major Bletchley, whose face instantly assumed a sheepish but delighted expression.

"And how's little Miss Bo Peep this morning?" he asked fatuously. "Bo Peep!" He enacted the play with a newspaper.

Betty crowed with delight.

Serious misgivings shook Tuppence. She thought:

"There must be some mistake. There can't be anything going on here. There simply can't!"

To believe in Sans Souci as a headquarters of the Fifth Column needed the mental equipment of the White Queen in "Alice."

On the sheltered terrace outside, Miss Minton was knitting.

Miss Minton was thin and angular, her neck was stringy. She wore pale sky-blue jumpers, and chains or bead necklaces. Her skirts were tweedy and had a depressed droop at the back. She greeted Tuppence with alacrity.

"Good morning, Mrs Blenkensop. I do hope you slept well."

Mrs Blenkensop confessed that she never slept very well the first night or two in a strange bed. Miss Minton said, Now, wasn't that curious? It was exactly the same with her.

Mrs Blenkensop said, "What a coincidence, and what a very pretty stitch that was." Miss Minton, flushing with pleasure, displayed it. Yes, it was rather uncommon, and really quite simple. She could easily show it to Mrs Blenkensop if Mrs Blenkensop liked. Oh, that was very kind of Miss Minton, but Mrs Blenkensop was so stupid, she wasn't really very good at knitting, not at following patterns, that was to say. She could only do simple things like Balaclava helmets, and even now she was afraid she had gone wrong somewhere. It didn't look right, somehow, did it?"

Miss Minton cast an expert eye over the khaki mass. Gently she pointed out just what had gone wrong. Thankfully, Tuppence handed the faulty helmet over. Miss Minton exuded kindness and patronage. "Oh, no, it wasn't a trouble at all. She had knitted for so many years."

"I'm afraid I've never done any before this dreadful war," confessed Tuppence. "But one feels so terribly, doesn't one, that one must do something."

"Oh, yes, indeed. And you actually have a boy in the Navy, I think I heard you say last night?"

"Yes, my eldest boy. Such a splendid boy he is - though I suppose a mother shouldn't say so. Then I have a boy in the Air Force and Cyril, my baby, is out in France."

"Oh, dear, dear, how terribly anxious you must be."

Tuppence thought:

"Oh, Derek, my darling Derek... Out in the hell and mess - and here I am playing the fool - acting the thing I'm really feeling..."

She said in her most righteous voice:

"We must all be brave, mustn't we? Let's hope it will all be over soon. I was told the other day on very high authority indeed that the Germans can't possibly last out more than another two months."

Miss Minton nodded with so much vigour that all her bead chains rattled and shook.

"Yes, indeed, and I believe" - her voice lowered mysteriously - "that Hitler is suffering from a disease - absolutely fatal - he'll be raving mad by August."

Tuppence replied briskly:

"All this Blitzkrieg is just the Germans' last effort. I believe the shortage is something frightful in Germany. The men in the factories are very dissatisfied. The whole thing will crack up."

"What's this? What's all this?"

Mr and Mrs Cayley came out on the terrace, Mr Cayley putting his questions fretfully. He settled himself in a chair and his wife put a rug over his knees. He repeated fretfully: