Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

I think I've identified the corpse!

Au revoir, my fellow sleuth.

Love from your successfully concussed, Frankie.

P.S. I shall post this myself.

Bobby's spirits rose with a bound.

Discarding his overalls and breaking the news of his immediate departure to Badger, he was about to hurry off when he remembered that he had not yet opened his father's letter. He did so with a rather qualified enthusiasm since the Vicar's letters were actuated by a spirit of duty rather than pleasure and breathed an atmosphere of Christian forbearance which was highly depressing.

The Vicar gave conscientious news of doings in Marchbolt, describing his own troubles with the organist and commenting on the unchristian spirit of one of his churchwardens. The rebinding of the hymn books was also touched upon. And the Vicar hoped that Bobby was sticking manfully to his job and trying to make good, and remained his ever affectionate father.

There was a postscript: By the way, someone called who asked for your address in London.

I was out at the time and he did not leave his name. Mrs Roberts describes him as a tall, stooping gentleman with pince-nez. He seemed very sorry to miss you and very anxious to see you again.

A tall, stooping man with pince-nez. Bobby ran over in his mind anyone of his acquaintance likely to fit that description but could think of nobody.

Suddenly a quick suspicion darted into his mind. Was this the forerunner of a new attempt upon his life? Were these mysterious enemies, or enemy, trying to track him down?

He sat still and did some serious thinking. They, whoever they were, had only just discovered that he had left the neighbourhood. All unsuspecting, Mrs Roberts had given his new address.

So that already they, whoever they were, might be keeping a watch upon the place. If he went out he would be followed and just as things were at the moment that would never do.

'Badger,' said Bobby.

'Yes, old lad.' 'Come here.' The next five minutes were spent in genuine hard work. At the end often minutes Badger could repeat his instructions by heart.

When he was word perfect, Bobby got into a two-seater Flat dating from 1902 and drove dashingly down the Mews. He parked the Flat in St James's Square and walked straight from there to his club. There he did some telephoning and a couple of hours later certain parcels were delivered to him. Finally, about half-past three, a chauffeur in dark green livery walked to St James's Square and went rapidly up to a large Bentley which had been parked there about half an hour previously.

The parking attendant nodded to him - the gentleman who had left the car had remarked, stammering slightly as he did so, that his chauffeur would be fetching it shortly.

Bobby let in the clutch and drew neatly out. The abandoned Flat still stood demurely awaiting its owner. Bobby, despite the intense discomfort of his upper lip, began to enjoy himself. He headed north, not south, and, before long, the powerful engine was forging ahead on the Great North Road.

It was only an extra precaution that he was taking. He was pretty sure that he was not being followed. Presently he turned off to the left and made his way by circuitous roads to Hampshire.

It was just after tea that the Bentley purred up the drive of Merroway Court, a stiff and correct chauffeur at the wheel.

'Hullo,' said Frankie lightly. There's the car.' She went out to the front door. Sylvia and Roger came with her.

'Is everything all right, Hawkins?' The chauffeur touched his cap.

'Yes, m'lady. She's been thoroughly overhauled.' 'That's all right, then.' The chauffeur produced a note.

'From his lordship, m'lady.' Frankie took it.

'You'll put up at the - what is it - Anglers' Arms in Staverley, Hawkins. I'll telephone in the morning if I want the car.' 'Very good, your ladyship.' Bobby backed, turned and sped down the drive.

'I'm so sorry we haven't room here,' said Sylvia. 'It's a lovely car.' 'You get some pace out of that,' said Roger.

'I do,' admitted Frankie.

She was satisfied that no faintest quiver of recognition had shown on Roger's face. She would have been surprised if it had. She would not have recognized Bobby herself had she met him casually. The small moustache had a perfectly natural appearance, and that, with the stiff demeanour so uncharacteristic of the natural Bobby, completed the disguise enhanced by the chauffeur's livery.

The voice, too, had been excellent, and quite unlike Bobby's own. Frankie began to think that Bobby was far more talented than she had given him credit for being.

Meanwhile Bobby had successfully taken up his quarters at the Anglers' Arms.

It was up to him to create the part of Edward Hawkins, chauffeur to Lady Frances Derwent.

As to the behaviour of chauffeurs in private life, Bobby was singularly ill-informed, but he imagined that a certain haughtiness would not come amiss. He tried to feel himself a superior being and to act accordingly. The admiring attitude of various young women employed in the Anglers' Arms had a distinctly encouraging effect and he soon found that Frankie and her accident had provided the principal topic of conversation in Staverley ever since it had happened. Bobby unbent towards the landlord, a stout, genial person of the name of Thomas Askew, and permitted information to leak from him.

'Young Reeves, he was there and saw it happen,' declared Mr Askew.

Bobby blessed the natural mendacity of the young. The famous accident was now vouched for by an eye witness.

'Thought his last moment had come, he did,' went on Mr Askew. 'Straight for him down the hill it come - and then took the wall instead. A wonder the young lady wasn't killed.' 'Her ladyship takes some killing,' said Bobby.

'Had many accidents, has she?' 'She's been lucky,' said Bobby. 'But I assure you, Mr Askew, that when her ladyship's taken over the wheel from me as she sometimes does - well, I've made sure my last hour has come.' Several persons present shook their heads wisely and said they didn't wonder and it's just what they would have thought.

'Very nice little place you have here, Mr Askew,' said Bobby kindly and condescendingly. 'Very nice and snug.' Mr Askew expressed gratification.

'Merroway Court the only big place in the neighbourhood?' 'Well, there's the Grange, Mr Hawkins. Not that you'd call that a place exactly. There's no family living there. No, it had been empty for years until this American doctor took it.' 'An American doctor?' 'That's it - Nicholson his name is. And if you ask me, Mr Hawkins, there are some very queer goings on there.' The barmaid at this point remarked that Dr Nicholson gave her the shivers, he did.

'Goings on, Mr Askew?' said Bobby. 'Now, what do you mean by goings on?' Mr Askew shook his head darkly.

'There's those there that don't want to be there. Put away by their relations. I assure you, Mr Hawkins, the meanings and the shrieks and the groans that go on there you wouldn't believe.' 'Why don't the police interfere?' 'Oh, well, you see, it's supposed to be all right. Nerve cases, and such like. Loonies that aren't so very bad. The gentleman's a doctor and it's all right, so to speak -' Here the landlord buried his face in a pint pot and emerged again to shake his head in a very doubtful fashion.

'Ah!' said Bobby in a dark and meaning way. 'If we knew everything that went on in these places...' And he, too, applied himself to a pewter pot.

The barmaid chimed in eagerly.

'That's what I say, Mr Hawkins. What goes on there? Why, one night a poor young creature escaped - in her nightgown she was - and the doctor and a couple of nurses out looking for her.

"Oh! don't let them take me back!" That's what she was crying out. Pitiful it was. And about her being rich really and her relations having her put away. But they took her back, they did, and the doctor he explained that she'd got a persecution mania - that's what he called it. Kind of thinking everyone was against her. But I've often wondered - yes, I have. I've often wondered...' 'Ah!' said Mr Askew. 'It's easy enough to say ' Somebody present said that there was no knowing what went on in places. And somebody else said that.was right.