Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

Finally the meeting broke up and Bobby announced his intention of going for a stroll before turning in.

The Grange was, he knew, on the other side of the village from Merroway Court, so he turned his footsteps in that direction. What he had heard that evening seemed to him worthy of attention. A lot of it could, of course, be discounted.

Villages are usually prejudiced against newcomers, and still more so if the newcomer is of a different nationality. If Nicholson ran a place for curing drug takers, in all probability there would be strange sounds issuing from it - groans and even shrieks might be heard without any sinister reason for them, but all the same, the story of the escaping girl struck Bobby unpleasantly.

Supposing the Grange were really a place where people were kept against their will? A certain amount of genuine cases might be taken as camouflage.

At this point in his meditations Bobby arrived at a high wall with an entrance of wrought-iron gates. He stepped up to the gates and tried one gently. It was locked. Well, after all, why not?

And yet somehow, the touch of that locked gate gave him a faintly sinister feeling. The place was like a prison.

He moved a little farther along the road measuring the wall with his eye. Would it be possible to climb over? The wall was smooth and high and presented no accommodating crannies.

He shook his head. Suddenly he came upon a little door.

Without much real hope he tried it. To his surprise it yielded.

It was not locked.

'Bit of an oversight here,' thought Bobby with a grin.

He slipped through, closing the door softly behind him.

He found himself on a path leading through a shrubbery. He followed the path which twisted a good deal - in fact, it reminded Bobby of the one in Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Suddenly, without any warning, the path gave a sharp turn and emerged into an open space close to the house. It was a moonlit night and the space was clearly lit. Bobby had stepped full into the moonlight before he could stop himself.

At the same moment a woman's figure came round the corner of the house. She was treading very softly, glancing from side to side with - or so it seemed to the watching Bobby - the nervous alertness of a hunted animal. Suddenly she stopped dead and stood, swaying as though she would fall.

Bobby rushed forward and caught her. Her lips were white and it seemed to him that never had he seen such an awful fear on any human countenance.

'It's all right,' he said reassuringly in a very low voice. 'It's quite all right.' The girl, for she was little more, moaned faintly, her eyelids half closed.

'I'm so frightened,' she murmured. 'I'm so terribly frightened.' 'What's the matter?' said Bobby.

The girl only shook her head and repeated faintly: 'I'm so frightened. I'm so horribly frightened.' Suddenly some sound seemed to come to her ears. She sprang upright, away from Bobby. Then she turned to him.

'Go away,' she said. 'Go away at once.' 'I want to help you,' said Bobby.

'Do you?' She looked at him for a minute or two, a strange searching and moving glance. It was as though she explored his soul.

Then she shook her head.

'No one can help me.' 'I can,' said Bobby. 'I'd do anything. Tell me what it is that frightens you so.' She shook her head.

'Not now. Oh! quick - they're coming! You can't help me unless you go now. At once - at once.' Bobby yielded to her urgency.

With a whispered: 'I'm at the Anglers' Arms,' he plunged back along the path. The last he saw of her was an urgent gesture bidding him hurry.

Suddenly he heard footsteps on the path in front of him.

Someone was coming along the path from the little door.

Bobby plunged abruptly into the bushes at the side of the path.

He had not been mistaken. A man was coming along the path. He passed close to Bobby but it was too dark for the young man to see his face.

When he had passed, Bobby resumed his retreat. He felt that he could do nothing more that night.

Anyway, his head was in a whirl.

For he had recognized the girl - recognized her beyond any possible doubt.

She was the original of the photograph which had so mysteriously disappeared.

'Mr Hawkins?' 'Yes,' said Bobby, his voice slightly muffled owing to a large mouthful of bacon and eggs.

'You're wanted on the telephone.' Bobby took a hasty gulp of coffee, wiped his mouth and rose.

The telephone was in a small dark passage. He took up the receiver..

'Hullo,' said Frankie's voice.

'Hullo, Frankie,' said Bobby incautiously.

'This is Lady Frances Derwent speaking,' said the voice coldly. 'Is that Hawkins?' 'Yes, m'lady.' 'I shall want the car at ten o'clock to take me up to London.' 'Very good, your ladyship.' Bobby replaced the receiver.

'When does one say, "my lady", and when does one say, "your ladyship"?' he cogitated. 'I ought to know, but I don't.

It's the sort of thing that will lead a real chauffeur or butler to catch me out.' At the other end, Frankie hung up the receiver and turned to Roger Bassingtonffrench.

'It's a nuisance,' she observed lightly, 'to have to go up to London today. All owing to Father's fuss.' 'Still,' said Roger, 'you'll be back this evening?' 'Oh, yes!' 'I'd half thought of asking you if you'd give me a lift to town,' said Roger carelessly.

Frankie paused for an infinitesimal second before her answer - given with an apparent readiness.

'Why, of course,' she said.

'But on second thoughts I don't think I will go up today,' went on Roger. 'Henry's looking even odder than usual.

Somehow I don't very much like leaving Sylvia alone with him.' 'I know,' said Frankie.

'Are you driving yourself?' asked Roger casually as they moved away from the telephone.

'Yes, but I shall take Hawkins. I've got some shopping to do as well and it's a nuisance if you're driving yourself - you can't leave the car anywhere.' 'Yes, of course.' He said no more, but when the car came around, Bobby at the wheel very stiff and correct of demeanour, he came out on the doorstep to see her off.

'Goodbye,' said Frankie.

Under the circumstances she did not think of holding out a hand, but Roger took hers and held it a minute.

'You are coming back?' he said with curious insistence.

Frankie laughed.

'Of course. I only meant goodbye till this evening.' 'Don't have any more accidents.' 'I'll let Hawkins drive if you like.' She sprang in beside Bobby, who touched his cap. The car moved off down the drive, Roger still standing on the step looking after it.

'Bobby,' said Frankie, 'do you think it possible that Roger might fall for me?' 'Has he?' inquired Bobby.

'Well, I just wondered.' 'I expect you know the symptoms pretty well,' said Bobby.

But he spoke absently. Frankie shot him a quick glance.

'Has anything - happened?' she asked.

'Yes, it has. Frankie, I've found the original of the photograph!' 'You mean - the one - the one you talked so much about the one that was in the dead man's pocket?' 'Yes.' 'Bobby! I've got a few things to tell you, but nothing to this.

Where did you find her?' Bobby jerked his head back over his shoulder.

'In Dr Nicholson's nursing home.' 'Tell me.' Carefully and meticulously Bobby described the events of the previous night. Frankie listened breathlessly.

"Then we are on the right track,' she said. 'And Dr Nicholson is mixed up in all this! I'm afraid of that man.' 'What is he like?' 'Oh! big and forceful - and he watches you. Very intently behind glasses. And you feel he knows all about you.' 'When did you meet him?' 'He came to dinner.' She described the dinner party and Dr Nicholson's insistent dwelling on the details of her 'accident'.