Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans

But it fits. Why was Sylvia so dense about the morphia - why did she resist so obstinately when we wanted her to send her husband somewhere else instead of the Grange? And then she was in the house when the shot was fired ' 'She might have done it herself.' 'Oh! no, surely.' 'Yes, she might. And then have given the key of the study to Nicholson to put in Henry's pocket.' 'It's all crazy,' said Frankie in a hopeless voice. 'Like looking- through a distorting mirror. All the people who seemed most all right are really all wrong - all the nice, everyday people.

There ought to be some way of telling criminals - eyebrows or ears or something.' 'My God!' cried Bobby.

'What is it?' 'Frankie, that wasn't Nicholson who came here just now.' 'Have you gone quite mad? Who was it then?' 'I don't know - but it wasn't Nicholson. All along I felt there was something wrong, but couldn't spot it, and your saying ears has given me the clue. When I was watching Nicholson the other evening through the window I especially noticed his ears - the lobes are joined to the face. But this man tonight - his ears weren't like that.' 'But what does it mean?' Frankie asked hopelessly.

'This is a very clever actor impersonating Nicholson.' 'But why - and who could it be?' 'Bassington-ffrench,' breathed Bobby. 'Roger Bassingtonffrench! We spotted the right man at the beginning and then, like idiots, we went astray after red herrings.' 'Bassington-ffrench,' whispered Frankie. 'Bobby, you're right. It must be him. He was the only person there when I taunted Nicholson about accidents.' 'Then it really is all up,' said Bobby. 'I've still had a kind of sneaking hope that possibly Roger Bassington-ffrench might nose out our trail by some miracle but now the last hope's gone.

Moira's a prisoner, you and I are tied hand and foot. Nobody else has the least idea where we are. The game's up, Frankie.' As he finished speaking there was a sound overhead. The next minute, with a terrific crash, a heavy body fell through the skylight.

It was too dark to see anything.

'What the devil -' began Bobby.

From amidst a pile of broken glass, a voice spoke.

'B-b-b-bobby,' it said.

'Well, I'm damned!' said Bobby. 'It's Badger!'

There was not a minute to be lost. Already sounds could be heard on the floor below.

'Quick, Badger, you fool!' said Bobby. 'Pull one of my boots off! Don't argue or ask questions! Haul it off somehow. Chuck it down in the middle there and crawl under that bed! Quick, I tell you!' Steps were ascending the stairs. The key turned.

Nicholson - the pseudo Nicholson - stood in the doorway, candle in hand.

He saw Bobby and Frankie as he had left them, but in the middle of the floor was a pile of broken glass and in the middle of the broken glass was a boot!

Nicholson stared in amazement from the boot to Bobby.

Bobby's left foot was bootless.

'Very clever, my young friend,' he said dryly. 'Extremely acrobatic.' He came over to Bobby, examined the ropes that bound him and tied a couple of extra knots. He looked at him curiously.

'I wish I knew how you managed to throw that boot through the skylight It seems almost incredible. A touch of the Houdini about you, my friend.' He looked at them both, up at the broken skylight, then shrugging his shoulders, he left the room.

'Quick, Badger.' Badger crawled out from under the bed. He had a pocket knife and with its aid he soon cut the other two free.

'That's better,' said Bobby, stretching himself. 'Whew! I'm stiff! Well, Frankie, what about our friend Nicholson?' 'You're right,' said Frankie. 'It's Roger Bassingtonffrench.

Now that I know he's Roger playing the part of Nicholson I can see it. But it's a pretty good performance all the same.' 'Entirely voice and pince-nez,' said Bobby.

'I was at Oxford with a B-b-b-bassington-ffrench,' said Badger. 'M-m-m-marvellous actor. B-b-b-bad hat, though. Bb-b-bad business about forging his p-p-pater's n-n-n-name to a cheque. Old m-m-man hushed it up.' In the minds of both Bobby and Frankie was the same thought. Badger, whom they had judged it wiser not to take into their confidence, could all along have given them valuable information!

'Forgery,' said Frankie thoughtfully. 'That letter from you, Bobby, was remarkably well done. I wonder how he knew your handwriting?' 'If he's in with the Caymans he probably saw my letter about the Evans business.' The voice of Badger rose plaintively.

'W-w-w-what are we going to do next?' he inquired.

'We're going to take up a comfortable position behind this door,' said Bobby. 'And when our friend returns, which I imagine won't be for a little while yet, you and I are going to spring on him from behind and give him the surprise of his life.

How about it. Badger? Are you game?' 'Oh! absolutely.' 'As for you, Frankie, when you hear his step you'd better get back on to your chair. He'll see you as soon as he opens the door and will come in without any suspicion.' 'All right,' said Frankie. 'And once you and Badger have got him down I'll join in and bite his ankles or something.' 'That's the true womanly spirit,' said Bobby approvingly.

'Now, let's all sit close together on the floor here and hear all about things. I want to know what miracle brought Badger through that skylight.' 'Well, you s-s-see,' said Badger, 'after you w-w-went off, I got into a bit of a mm-mess.' He paused. Gradually the story was extracted: a tale of liabilities, creditors and bailiffs - a typical Badger catastrophe.

Bobby had gone off leaving no address, only saying that he was driving the Bentley down to Staveriey. So to Staverley came Badger.

'I thought p-p-perhaps you m-m-might be able to let have a f-f-fiver,' he explained.

Bobby's heart smote him. To aid Badger in his enterprise he had come to London and had promptly deserted his post to go off sleuthing with Frankie. And even now the faithful Badger uttered no word of reproach.

Badger had no wish to endanger Bobby's mysterious enterprises, but he was of the opinion that a car like the green Bentley would not be difficult to find in a place the size of Staverley.

As a matter of fact, he came across the car before he got to Staverley, for it was standing outside a pub - empty.

'S-s-so I thought,' went on Badger, 'that I'd give you a little s-s-s-surprise, don't you know? There were some r-r-rugs and things in the b-b-back and nobody about. I g-g-got in and pp-p-pulled them over me. I thought I'd give you the sssurprise of your life.' What actually happened was that a chauffeur in green livery had emerged from the pub and that Badger, peering from his place of concealment, was thunderstruck to perceive that this chauffeur was not Bobby. He had an idea that the face was in some way familiar to him but couldn't place the man. The stranger got into the car and drove off.

Badger was in a predicament. He did not know what to do next. Explanations and apologies were difficult, and in any case it is not easy to explain to someone who is driving a car at sixty miles an hour. Badger decided to lie low and sneak out of the car when it stopped.

The car finally reached its destination - Tudor Cottage. The chauffeur drove it into the garage and left it there, but, on going out, he shut the garage doors. Badger was a prisoner. There was a small window at one side of the garage and through this about half an hour later Badger had observed Frankie's approach, her whistle and her admission into the house.

The whole business puzzled Badger greatly. He began to suspect that something was wrong. At any rate, he determined to have a look round for himself and see what it was all about.

With the help of some tools lying about in the garage he succeeded in picking the lock of the garage door and set out on a tour of inspection. The windows on the ground floor were all shuttered, but he thought that by getting on to the roof he might manage to have a look into some of the upper windows.