Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

'That was too bad,' he said, as she finished, having, perhaps, made a more detailed story of it than seemed strictly necessary.

'But you seem to have made a very good recovery.' 'We won't admit she's cured yet. We're keeping her with us,' said Sylvia.

The doctor's gaze went to Sylvia. Something like a very faint smile came to his lips but passed almost immediately.

'I should keep her with you as long as possible,' he said gravely.

Frankie was sitting between her host and Dr Nicholson.

Henry Bassington-ffrench was decidedly moody tonight. His hands twitched, he ate next to nothing and he took no part in the conversation.

Mrs Nicholson, opposite, had a difficult time with him, and turned to Roger with obvious relief. She talked to him in a desultory fashion, but Frankie noticed that her eyes were never long absent from her husband's face.

Dr Nicholson was talking about life in the country.

'Do you know what a culture is. Lady Frances?' 'Do you mean book learning?' asked Frankie, rather puzzled.

'No, no. I was referring to germs. They develop, you know, in specially prepared serum. The country. Lady Frances, is a little like that. There is time and space and infinite leisure suitable conditions, you see, for development.' 'Do you mean bad things?' asked Frankie puzzled.

'That depends. Lady Frances, on the kind of germ cultivated.' Idiotic conversation, thought Frankie, and why should it make me feel creepy, but it does!

She said flippantly: 'I expect I'm developing all sorts of dark qualities.' He looked at her and said calmly: 'Oh, no, I don't think so. Lady Frances. I think you would always be on the side of law and order.' Was there a faint emphasis on the word law?

Suddenly, across the table, Mrs Nicholson said: 'My husband prides himself on summing up character.' Dr Nicholson nodded his head gently.

'Quite right, Moira. Little things interest me.' He turned to Frankie again. 'I had heard of your accident, you know. One thing about it intrigued me very much.' 'Yes?' said Frankie, her heart beating suddenly.

'The doctor who was passing - the one who brought you in here.' Yes?' 'He must have had a curious character - to turn his car before going to the rescue.' 'I don't understand.' 'Of course not. You were unconscious. But young Reeves, the message boy, came from Staverley on his bicycle and no car passed him, yet he comes round the corner, finds the smash, and the doctor's car pointing the same way he was going towards London. You see the point? The doctor did not come from the direction of Staveley so he must have come the other way, down the hill. But in that case his car should have been pointing towards Staverley. But it wasn't. Therefore he must have turned it.' 'Unless he had come from Staverley some time before,' said Frankie.

'Then his car would have been standing there as you came down the hill. Was it?' The pale-blue eyes were looking at her very intently through the thick glasses.

'I don't remember,' said Frankie. 'I don't think so.' 'You sound like a detective, Jasper,' said Mrs Nicholson.

'And all about nothing at all.' 'Little things interest me,' said Nicholson.

He turned to his hostess, and Frankie drew a breath of relief.

Why had he catechized her like that? How had he found out all about the accident? 'Little things interest me,' he had said.

Was that all there was to it?

Frankie remembered the dark-blue Talbot saloon, and the fact that Carstairs had been a Canadian. It seemed to her that Dr Nicholson was a sinister man.

She kept out of his way after dinner, attaching herself to the gentle, fragile Mrs Nicholson. She noticed that all the time Mrs Nicholson's eyes still watched her husband. Was it love, Frankie wondered, or fear?

Nicholson devoted himself to Sylvia and at half-past ten he caught his wife's eye and they rose to go.

'Well,' said Roger after they had gone, 'what do you think of our Dr Nicholson? A very forceful personality, hasn't he?' I'm like Sylvia,' said Frankie. 'I don't think I like him very much. I like her better.' 'Good-looking, but rather a little idiot,' said Roger. 'She either worships him or is scared to death of him -I don't know which.' 'That's just what I wondered,' agreed Frankie.

'I don't like him,' said Sylvia, 'but I must admit that he's got a lot of - of. force. I believe he's cured drug takers in the most marvellous way. People whose relations despaired utterly.

They've gone there as a last hope and come out absolutely cured.' 'Yes,' cried Henry Bassington-ffrench suddenly. 'And do you know what goes on there? Do you know the awful suffering and mental torment? A man's used to a drug and they cut him off it - cut him off it - till he goes raving mad for the lack of it and beats his head against the wall. That's what he does - your "forceful" doctor tortures people - tortures them - sends them to Hell - drives them mad...' He was shaking violently. Suddenly he turned and left the room.

Sylvia Bassington-ffrench looked startled.

'What is the matter with Henry?' she said wonderingly. 'He seems very upset.' Frankie and Roger dared not look at each other.

'He's not looked well all evening,' ventured Frankie.

'No. I noticed that. He's very moody lately. I wish he hadn't given up riding. Oh, by the way, Dr Nicholson invited Tommy over tomorrow, but I don't like him going there very much not with all those queer nerve cases and dope-takers.' 'I don't suppose the doctor would allow him to come into contact with them,' said Roger. 'He seems very fond of children.' 'Yes, I think it's a disappointment he hasn't got any of his own. Probably to her, too. She looks very sad - and terribly delicate.' 'She's like a sad Madonna,' said Frankie.

'Yes, that describes her very well.' 'If Dr Nicholson is so fond of children I suppose he came to your children's party?' said Frankie carelessly.

'Unfortunately he was away for a day or two just then. I think he had to go to London for some conference.' 'I see.' They went up to bed. Before she went to sleep, Frankie wrote to Bobby.

Bobby had had an irksome time. His forced inaction was exceedingly trying. He hated staying quietly in London and doing nothing.

He had been rung up on the telephone by George Arbuthnot who, in a few laconic words, told him that all had gone well. A couple of days later, he had a letter from Frankie, delivered to him by her maid, the letter having gone under cover to her at Lord Marchington's town house.

Since then he had heard nothing.

'Letter for you,' called out Badger.

Bobby came forward excitedly but the letter was one addressed in his father's handwriting, and postmarked Marchbolt.

At that moment, however, he caught sight of the neat blackgowned figure of Frankie's maid approaching down the Mews.

Five minutes later he was tearing open Frankie's second letter.

Dear Bobby (wrote Frankie,), / think it's about time you came down. I've given them instructions at home that you're to have the Bentley whenever you ask for it. Get a chauffeur's livery - darkgreen ours always are. Put it down to father at Harrods. It's best to be correct in details. Concentrate on making a good job of the moustache. It makes a frightful difference to anyone's face.

Come down here and ask for me. You might bring me an ostensible note from Father. Report that the car is now in working order again. The garage here only holds two cars and as it's got the family Daimler and Roger Bassington-ffrench 's two-seater in it, it is fortunately full up, so you will go to Staverley and put up there.

Get what local information you can when there - particularly about a Dr Nicholson who runs a place for dope patients. Several suspicious circumstances about him - he has a dark-blue Talbot saloon, he was away from home on the 16th when your beer was doctored, and he takes altogether too detailed an interest in the circumstances of my accident.