Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

'I don't want to insult your clothes, Bobby,' she said. 'Or throw your poverty in your teeth, or anything like that. But will they carry conviction? I think, myself, that we'd better raid Father's wardrobe. His clothes won't fit you too badly.' A quarter of an hour later, Bobby, attired in a morning coat and striped trousers of exquisitely correct cut and passable fit, stood surveying himself in Lord Marchington's pier glass.

'Your father does himself well in clothes,' he remarked graciously. 'With the might of Savile Row behind me, I feel a great increase of confidence.' 'I suppose you'll have to stick to your moustache,' said Frankie.

'It's sticking to me,' said Bobby. 'It's a work of art that couldn't be repeated in a hurry.' 'You'd better keep it, then. Though it's more legal-looking to be clean-shaven.' 'It's better than a beard,' said Bobby. 'Now, then, Frankie, do you think your father could lend me a hat?'

'Supposing,' said Bobby, pausing on the doorstep, 'that Mr M.

R. Rivington of Onslow Square is himself a solicitor? That would be a blow.' 'You'd better try the Tite Street colonel first,' said Frankie.

'He won't know anything about solicitors.' Accordingly, Bobby took a taxi to Tite Street. Colonel Rivington was out. Mrs Rivington, however, was at home.

Bobby delivered over to the smart parlourmaid his card on which he had written: 'From Messrs Spragge, Spragge, Jenkinson Spragge. Very Urgent.

The card and Lord Marchington's clothes produced their effect upon the parlourmaid. She did not for an instant suspect that Bobby had come to sell miniatures or tout for insurances.

He was shown into a beautifully and expensively furnished drawing-room and presently Mrs Rivington, beautifully and expensively dressed and made up, came into the room.

'I must apologize for troubling you, Mrs Rivington,' said Bobby. 'But the matter was rather urgent and we wished to avoid the delay of letters.' That any solicitor could ever wish to avoid delay seemed so transparently impossible that Bobby for a moment wondered anxiously whether Mrs Rivington would see through the pretence.

Mrs Rivington, however, was clearly a woman of more looks than brains who accepted things as they were presented to her.

'Oh, do sit down!' she said. 'I got the telephone message just now from your office saying that you were on your way here.' Bobby mentally applauded Frankie for this last-minute flash of brilliance.

He sat down and endeavoured to look legal.

'It is about our client, Mr Alan Carstairs,' he said.

Oh, yes?' 'He may have mentioned that we were acting for him.' 'Did he now? I believe he did,' said Mrs Rivington, opening very large blue eyes. She was clearly of a suggestible type. 'But of course, I know about you. You acted for Dolly Maltravers, didn't you, when she shot that dreadful dressmaker man? I suppose you know all the details?' She looked at him with frank curiosity. It seemed to Bobby that Mrs Rivington was going to be easy meat.

'We know a lot that never comes into court,' he said, smiling.

'Oh, I suppose you must.' Mrs Rivington looked at him enviously. 'Tell me, did she really - I mean, was she dressed as that woman said?' 'The story was contradicted in court,' said Bobby solemnly.

He slightly dropped the corner of his eyelid.

'Oh, I see,' breathed Mrs Rivington, enraptured.

'About Mr Carstairs,' said Bobby, feeling that he had now established friendly relations and could get on with his job. 'He left England very suddenly, as perhaps you know?' Mrs Rivington shook her head.

'Has he left England? I didn't know. We haven't seen him for some time.' 'Did he tell you how long he expected to be over here?' 'He said he might be here for a week or two or it might be six months or a year.' 'Where was he staying?' 'At the Savoy.' 'And you saw him last - when?' 'Oh, about three weeks or a month ago. I can't remember.' 'You took him down to Staverley one day?' 'Of course! I believe that's the last time we saw him. He rang up to know when he could see us. He'd just arrived in London and Hubert was very put out because we were going up to Scotland the next day, and we were going down to Staverley to lunch and dining out with some dreadful people that we couldn't get rid of, and he wanted to see Carstairs because he liked him so much, and so I said: "My dear, let's take him down to the Bassington-ffrenches with us. They won't mind.' And we did. And, of course, they didn't.' She came breathlessly to a pause.

'Did he tell you his reasons for being in England?' asked Bobby.

'No. Did he have any? Oh yes, I know. We thought it was something to do with that millionaire man, that friend of his, who had such a tragic death. Some doctor told him he had cancer and he killed himself. A very wicked thing for a doctor to do, don't you think so? And they're often quite wrong. Our doctor said the other day that my little girl had measles and it turned out to be a sort of heat rash. I told Hubert I should change him.' Ignoring Mrs Rivington's treatment of doctors as though they were library books, Bobby returned to the point.

'Did Mr Carstairs know the Bassingtonffrenches?' 'Oh, no! But I think he liked them. Though he was very queer and moody on the way back. I suppose something that had been said must have upset him. He's a Canadian, you know, and I often think Canadians are so touchy.' 'You don't know what it was that upset him?' 'I haven't the least idea. The silliest things do it sometimes, don't they?' 'Did he take any walks in the neighbourhood?' asked Bobby.

'Oh, no! What a very odd idea!' She stared at him.

Bobby tried again.

'Was there a party? Did he meet any of the neighbours?' 'No, it was just ourselves and them. But it's odd your saying that ' 'Yes,' said Bobby eagerly, as she paused.

'Because he asked a most frightful lot of questions about some people who lived near there.' 'Do you remember the name?' 'No, I don't. It wasn't anyone very interesting - some doctor or other.' 'Dr Nicholson?' 'I believe that was the name. He wanted to know all about him and his wife and when they came there - all sorts of things.

It seemed so odd when he didn't know them, and he wasn't a bit a curious man as a rule. But, of course, perhaps he was only making conversation, and couldn't think of anything to say.

One does do things like that sometimes.' Bobby agreed that one did and asked how the subject of the Nicholsons had come up, but that Mrs Rivington was unable to tell him. She had been out with Henry Bassington-ffrench in the garden and had come in to find the others discussing the Nicholsons.

So far, the conversation had proceeded easily, Bobby pumping the lady without any camouflage, but she now displayed a sudden curiosity.

'But what is it you want to know about Mr Carstairs?' she asked.

'I really wanted his address,' explained Bobby. 'As you know, we act for him and we've just had a rather important cable from New York - you know, there's rather a serious fluctuation in the dollar just now -' Mrs Rivington nodded with desperate intelligence.

'And so,' continued Bobby rapidly, 'we wanted to get into touch with him - to get his instructions - and he hasn't left an address - and, having heard him mention he was a friend of yours, I thought you might possibly have news of him.' 'Oh, I see,' said Mrs Rivington, completely satisfied. 'What a pity. But he's always rather a vague man, I should think.' 'Oh, distinctly so,' said Bobby. 'Well,' he rose, 'I apologize for taking up so much of your time.' 'Oh, not at all,' said Mrs Rivington. 'And it's so interesting to know that Dolly Maltravers really did - as you say she did.' 'I said nothing at all,' said Bobby.

'Yes, but then lawyers are so discreet, aren't they?' said Mrs Rivington with a little gurgle of laughter.