Agatha Christie: Why Didn't They Ask Evans

The roof presented no difficulties. There was a convenient pipe running up the garage and from the garage roof to the roof of the cottage was an easy climb. In the course of his prowling, Badger had come upon the skylight. Nature and Badger's weight had done the rest.

Bobby drew a long breath as the narrative came to an end.

'All the same,' he said reverently, 'you are a miracle - a singularly beautiful miracle! But for you. Badger, my lad, Frankie and I would have been little corpses in about an hour's time.' He gave Badger a condensed account of the activities of himself and Frankie. Towards the end he broke off.

'Someone's coming. Get to your post, Frankie. Now, then, this is where our play-acting Bassington-ffrench gets the surprise of his life.' Frankie arranged herself in a depressed attitude on the broken chair. Badger and Bobby stood ready behind the door.

The steps came up the stairs, a line of candle-light showed underneath the door. The key was put in the lock and turned, the door swung open. The light of the candle disclosed Frankie drooping dejectedly on her chair. Their gaoler stepped through the doorway.

Then, joyously. Badger and Bobby sprang.

The proceedings were short and decisive. Taken utterly by surprise, the man was knocked down, the candle flew wide and was retrieved by Frankie, and a few seconds later the three friends stood looking down with malicious pleasure at a figure securely bound with the same ropes as had previously secured two of them.

'Good evening, Mr Bassington-ffrench,' said Bobby - and if the exultation in his voice was a little crude, who shall blame him? 'It's a nice night for the funeral.'

The man on the floor stared up at them. His pince-nez had flown off and so had his hat. There could be no further attempt at disguise. Slight traces of make-up were visible about the eyebrows, but otherwise the face was the pleasant, slightly vacuous face of Roger Bassingtonffrench.

He spoke in his own agreeable tenor voice, its note that of pleasant soliloquy.

'Very interesting,' he said. 'I really knew quite well that no man tied up as you were could have thrown a boot through that skylight. But because the boot was there among the broken glass I took it for cause and effect and assumed that, though it was impossible, the impossible had been achieved. An interesting light on the limitations of the brain.' As nobody spoke, he went on still in the same reflective voice: 'So, after all, you've won the round. Most unexpected and extremely regrettable. I thought I'd got you all fooled nicely.' 'So you had,' said Frankie. 'You forged that letter from Bobby, I suppose?' 'I have a talent that way,' said Roger modestly.

'And Bobby?' Lying on his back, smiling agreeably, Roger seemed to take a positive pleasure in enlightening them.

'I knew he'd go to the Grange. I only had to wait about in the bushes near the path. I was just behind him there when he retreated after rather clumsily falling off a tree. I let the hubbub die down and then got him neatly on the back of the neck with a sandbag. All I had to do was to carry him out to where my car was waiting, shove him in the dickey and drive him here. I was at home again before morning.' 'And Moira?' demanded Bobby. 'Did you entice her away somehow?' Roger chuckled. The question seemed to amuse him.

'Forgery is a very useful art, my dear Jones,' he said.

'You swine,' said Bobby.

Frankie intervened. She was still full of curiosity, and their prisoner seemed in an obliging mood.

'Why did you pretend to be Dr Nicholson?' she asked.

'Why did I, now?' Roger seemed to be asking the question of himself. 'Partly, I think, the fun of seeing whether I could spoof you both. You were so very sure that poor old Nicholson was in it up to the neck.' He laughed and Frankie blushed. 'Just because he cross-questioned you a bit about the details of your accident - in his pompous way. It was an irritating fad of his accuracy in details.' 'And really,' said Frankie slowly, 'he was quite innocent?' 'As a child unborn,' said Roger. 'But he did me a good turn.

He drew my attention to that accident of yours. That and another incident made me realize that you mightn't be quite the innocent young thing you seemed to be. And then I was standing by you when you telephoned one morning and heard your chauffeur's voice say "Frankie". I've got pretty good hearing. I suggested coming up to town with you and you agreed - but you were very relieved when I changed my mind.

After that -' He stopped and, as far as he was able, shrugged his bound shoulders. 'It was rather fun seeing you all get worked up about Nicholson. He's a harmless old ass, but he does look exactly like a scientific super-criminal on the films. I thought I might as well keep the deception up. After all, you never know.

The best-laid plans go wrong, as my present predicament shows.' 'There's one thing you must tell me,' said Frankie. 'I've been driven nearly mad with curiosity. Who is Evans?' 'Oh!' said Bassington-ffrench. 'So you don't know that?' He laughed - and laughed again.

'That's rather amusing,' he said. 'It shows what a fool one can be.' 'Meaning us?' asked Frankie.

'No,' said Roger. 'In this case, meaning me. Do you know, if you don't know who Evans is, I don't think I shall tell you.

I'll keep that to myself as my own little secret.' The position was a curious one. They had turned the tables on Bassington-ffrench and yet, in some peculiar way, he had robbed them of their triumph. Lying on the floor, bound and a prisoner, it was he who dominated the situation.

'And what are your plans now, may I ask?' he inquired.

Nobody had as yet evolved any plans. Bobby rather doubtfully murmured something about police.

'Much the best thing to do,' said Roger cheerfully. 'Ring them up and hand me over to them. The charge will be abduction, I suppose. I can't very well deny that.' He looked at Frankie. 'I shall plead a guilty passion.' Frankie reddened.

'What about murder?' she asked.

'My dear, you haven't any evidence. Positively none. Think it over and you'll see you haven't.

'Badger,' said Bobby, 'you'd better stay here and keep an eye on him. I'll go down and ring the police.' 'You'd better be careful,' said Frankie. 'We don't know how many of them there may be in the house.' 'No one but me,' said Roger. 'I was carrying this through single-handed.' 'I'm not prepared to take your word for that,' said Bobby gruffly.

He bent over and tested the knots.

'He's all right,' he said. 'Safe as houses. We'd better all go down together. We can lock the door.' 'Terribly distrustful, aren't you, my dear chap,' said Roger.

'There's a pistol in my pocket if you'd like it. It may make you feel happier and it's certainly no good to me in my present position.' Ignoring the other's mocking tone, Bobby bent down and extracted the weapon.

'Kind of you to mention it,' he said. 'If you want to know it does me me feel happier.' 'Good,' said Roger. 'It's loaded.' Bobby took the candle and they filed out of the attic, leaving Roger lying on the floor. Bobby locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He held the pistol in his hand.

'I'll go first,' he said. 'We've got to be quite sure and not make a mess of things now.'' 'He's a qu-qu-queer chap, isn't he?' said Badger with a jerk of his head backwards in the direction of the room they had left.

'He's a damned good loser,' said Frankie.

Even now she was not quite free from the charm of that very remarkable young man, Roger Bassingtonffrench.

A rather rickety flight of steps led down to the main landing.

Everything was quiet. Bobby looked over the banisters. The telephone was in the hall below.

'We'd better look into these rooms first,' he said. 'We don't want to be taken in the rear.' Badger flung open each door in turn. Of the four bedrooms, three were empty. In the fourth a slender figure was lying on the bed.