Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

The window of Nicholson's study was farther along on the same side of the house. Bobby heard an exclamation in the doctor's voice and the window was flung up. Bobby, recovering from the first shock of his fall, sprang up, disentangled himself from the hydrangeas and bolted across the dark patch of shadow into the pathway leading to the little door. He went a short way along it, then dived into the bushes.

He heard the sound of voices and saw lights moving near the trampled and broken hydrangeas. Bobby kept still and held his breath. They might come along the path. If so, finding the door open, they would probably conclude that anyone had escaped that way and would not prosecute the search further.

However, the minutes passed and nobody came. Presently Bobby heard Nicholson's voice raised in a question. He did not hear the words but he heard an answer given in a hoarse, rather uneducated voice.

'All present and correct, sir. I've made the rounds.' The sounds gradually died down, the lights disappeared.

Everyone seemed to have returned to the house.

Very cautiously, Bobby came out of his hiding place. He emerged on to the path, listening. All was still. He took a step or two towards the house.

And then out of the darkness something struck him on the back of the neck. He fell forward... into darkness.

On Friday morning the green Bentley drew up outside the Station Hotel at Ambledever.

Frankie had wired Bobby under the name they had agreed upon - George Parker - that she would be required to give evidence at the inquest on Henry Bassington-ffrench and would call in at Ambledever on the way down from London.

She had expected a wire in reply appointing some rendezvous, but nothing had come, so she had come to the hotel.

'Mr Parker, miss?' said the boots. 'I don't think there's any gentleman of that name stopping here, but I'll see.' He returned a few minutes later.

'Came here Wednesday evening, miss. Left his bag and said he mightn't be in till late. His bag's still here but he hasn't been back to fetch it.' Frankie felt suddenly rather sick. She clutched at a table for support. The man was looking at her sympathetically.

'Feeling bad, miss?' he inquired.

Frankie shook her head.

'It's all right,' she managed to say. 'He didn't leave any message?' The man went away again and returned, shaking his head.

'There's a telegram come for him,' he said. 'That's all.' He looked at her curiously.

'Anything I can do, miss?' he asked.

Frankie shook her head.

At the moment she only wanted to get away. She must have time to think what to do next.

'It's all right,' she said and, getting into the Bentley, she drove away.

The man nodded his head wisely as he looked after her.

'He's done a bunk, he has,' he said to himself. 'Disappointed her. Given her the slip. A fine rakish piece of goods she is.

Wonder what he was like?' He asked the young lady in the reception office, but the young lady couldn't remember.

'A couple of nobs,' said the boots wisely. 'Going to get married on the quiet - and he's hooked it.' Meanwhile, Frankie was driving in the direction of Staverley, her mind a maze of conflicting emotions.

Why had Bobby not returned to the Station Hotel? There could only be two reasons: either he was on the trail - and that trail had taken him away somewhere, or else - or else something had gone wrong. The Bentley swerved dangerously.

Frankie recovered control just in time.

She was being an idiot - imagining things. Of course, Bobby was all right. He was on the trail - that was all-on the trail.

But why, asked another voice, hadn't he sent her a word of reassurance?

That was more difficult to explain, but there were explanations.

Difficult circumstances - no time or opportunity Bobby would know that she, Frankie, wouldn't get the wind up about him. Everything was all right - bound to be.

The inquest passed like a dream. Roger was there and Sylvia - looking quite beautiful in her widow's weeds. She made an impressive figure and a moving one. Frankie found herself admiring her as though she were admiring a performance at a theatre.

The proceedings were very tactfully conducted. The Bassington-ffrenches were popular locally and everything was done to spare the feelings of the widow and the brother of the dead man.

Frankie and Roger gave their evidence - Dr Nicholson gave his - the dead man's farewell letter was produced. The thing seemed over in no time and the verdict given - 'Suicide while of Unsound Mind'.

The 'sympathetic' verdict, as Mr Spragge had called it.

The two events connected themselves in Frankie's mind.

Two suicides while of Unsound Mind. Was there - could there be a connection between them?

That this suicide was genuine enough she knew, for she had been on the scene. Bobby's theory of murder had had to be dismissed as untenable. Dr Nicholson's alibi was cast iron vouched for by the widow herself.

Frankie and Dr Nicholson remained behind after the other people departed, the coroner having shaken hands with Sylvia and uttered a few words of sympathy.

'I think there are some letters for you, Frankie, dear,' said Sylvia. 'You won't mind if I leave you now and go and lie down.

It's all been so awful.' She shivered and left the room. Nicholson went with her, murmuring something about a sedative.

Frankie turned to Roger.

'Roger, Bobby's disappeared.' 'Disappeared?' 'Yes!' 'Where and how?' Frankie explained in a few rapid words.

'And he's not been seen since?' said Roger.

'No. What do you think?' 'I don't like the sound of it,' said Roger slowly.

Frankie's heart sank.

'You don't think - ?' 'Oh! it may be all right, but - sh, here comes Nicholson.' The doctor entered the room with his noiseless tread. He was rubbing his hands together and smiling.

'That went off very well,' he said. 'Very well, indeed. Dr Davidson was most tactful and considerate. We may consider ourselves very lucky to have had him as our local coroner.' 'I suppose so,' said Frankie mechanically.

'It makes a lot of difference. Lady Frances. The conduct of an inquest is entirely in the hands of the coroner. He has wide powers. He can make things easy or difficult as he pleases. In this case everything went off perfectly.' 'A good stage performance, in fact,' said Frankie in a hard voice.

Nicholson looked at her in surprise.

'I know what Lady Frances is feeling,' said Roger. 'I feel the same. My brother was murdered, Dr Nicholson.' He was standing behind the other and did not see, as Frankie did, the startled expression that sprang into the doctor's eyes.

'I mean what I say,' said Roger, interrupting Nicholson as he was about to reply. 'The law may not regard it as such, but murder it was. The criminal brutes who induced my brother to become a slave to that drug murdered him just as truly as if they had struck him down.' He had moved a little and his angry eyes now looked straight into the doctor's.

'I mean to get even with them,' he said; and the words sounded like a threat.

Dr Nicholson's pale-blue eyes fell before his. He shook his head sadly.

'I cannot say I disagree with you,' he said. 'I know more about drug-taking than you do, Mr Bassington-ffrench. To induce a man to take drugs is indeed a most terrible crime.' Ideas were whirling through Frankie's head - one idea in particular.

'It can't be,' she was saying to herself. 'That would be too monstrous. And yet^ his whole alibi depends on her word. But in that case -' j She roused herself to find Nicholson speaking to her.

'You came down by car. Lady Frances? No accident this time?' Frankie felt she simply hated that smile.

'No,' she said. 'I think it's a pity to go in too much for accidents - don't you?' She wondered if she had imagined it, or whether his eyelids really flickered for a moment.