Agatha Christie: Why Didn't They Ask Evans

He squints.' Frankie wrinkled her brows.

'He's got an awfully silly kind of laugh - haw haw haw - like that,' continued Bobby helpfully.

Still Frankie wrinkled her brows.

'Fell off his pony when we were kids,' continued Bobby.

'Stuck in the mud head down, and we had to pull him out by the legs.' 'Oh!' said Frankie in a flood of recollection. 'I know now. He stammered.' 'He still does,' said Bobby proudly.

'Didn't he run a chicken farm and it went bust?' inquired Frankie.

'That's right.' 'And then he went into a stockbroker's office and they fired him after a month?' 'That's it.' 'And then they sent him to Australia and he came back?' 'Yes.' 'Bobby,' said Frankie. 'You're not putting any money into this business venture, I hope?' 'I haven't got any money to put,' said Bobby.

'That's just as well,' said Frankie.

'Naturally,' went on Bobby. 'Badger has tried to get hold of someone with a little capital to invest. But it isn't so easy as you'd think.' 'When you look round you,' said Frankie, 'you wouldn't believe people had any sense at all - but they have.' The point of these remarks seemed at last to strike Bobby.

'Look here, Frankie,' he said. 'Badger's one of the best - one of the very best.' 'They always are,' said Frankie.

'Who are?' 'The ones who go to Australia and come back again. How did he get hold of the money to start this business?' 'An aunt or something died and left him a garage for six cars with three rooms over and his people stumped up a hundred pounds to buy second-hand cars with. You'd be surprised what bargains there are to be had in second-hand cars.' 'I bought one once,' said Frankie. 'It's a painful subject.

Don't let's talk of it. What did you want to leave the Navy for?

They didn't axe you, did they? Not at your age.' Bobby Hushed.

'Eyes,' he said gruffly.

'You always had trouble with your eyes, I remember.' 'I know. But I just managed to scrape through. Then foreign service - the strong light, you know - that rather did for them.

So - well - I had to get out.' 'Grim,' murmured Frankie, looking out of the window.

There was an eloquent pause.

'All the same, it's a shame,' burst out Bobby. 'My eyes aren't really bad - they won't get any worse, they say. I could have carried on perfectly.' 'They look all right,' said Frankie.

She looked straight into their honest brown depths.

'So you see,' said Bobby, 'I'm going in with Badger.' Frankie nodded.

An attendant opened the door and said, 'First luncheon.' 'Shall we?' said Frankie.

They passed along to the dining car.

Bobby made a short strategic retreat during the time when the ticket collector might be expected.

'We don't want him to strain his conscience too much,' he said.

But Frankie said she didn't expect ticket collectors had any consciences.

It was just after five o'clock when they reached Sileham, which was the station for Marchbolt.

'The car's meeting me,' said Frankie. 'I'll give you a lift.' 'Thanks. That will save me carrying this beastly thing for two miles.' He kicked his suitcase disparagingly.

'Three miles, not two,' said Frankie.

'Two miles if you go by the footpath over the links.' 'The one where ' 'Yes - where that fellow went over.' 'I suppose nobody pushed him over, did they?' asked Frankie as she handed her dressing-case to her maid.

'Pushed him over? Good Lord, no. Why?' 'Well, it would make it much more exciting, wouldn't it?' said Frankie idly.

The inquest on the body of Alex Pritchard was held on the following day. Dr Thomas gave evidence as to the finding of the body.

'Life was not then extinct?' asked the coroner.

'No, deceased was still breathing. There was, however, no hope of recovery. The ' Here the doctor became highly technical. The coroner came to the rescue of the jury: 'In ordinary everyday language, the man's back was broken?' 'If you like to put it that way,' said Dr Thomas sadly.

He described how he had gone off to get help, leaving the dying man in Bobby's charge.

'Now as to the cause of this disaster, what is your opinion, Dr Thomas?' 'I should say that in all probability (failing any evidence as to his state of mind, that is to say) the deceased stepped inadvertently over the edge of the cliff. There was a mist rising from the sea, and at that particular point the path turns abruptly inland. Owing to the mist the deceased may not have noticed the danger and walked straight on-in which case two steps would take him over the edge.' 'There were no signs of violence? Such as might have been administered by a third party?' 'I can only say that all the injuries present are fully explained by the body striking the rocks fifty or sixty feet below.' 'There remains the question of suicide?' 'That is, of course, perfectly possible. Whether the deceased walked over the edge or threw himself over is a matter on which I can say nothing.' Robert Jones was called next.

Bobby explained that he had been playing golf with the doctor and had sliced his ball towards the sea. A mist was rising at the time and it was difficult to see. He thought he heard a cry, and for a moment wondered if his ball could have hit anybody coining along the footpath. He had dedded,,however, that it could not possibly have travelled so far.

'Did you find the ball?' 'Yes, it was about a hundred yards short of the footpath.' He then described how they had driven from the next tee and how he himself had driven into the chasm.

Here the coroner stopped him since his evidence would have been a repetition of the doctor's. He questioned him closely, however, as to the cry he had heard or thought he heard.

'It was just a cry.' 'A cry for help?' 'Oh, no. Just a sort of shout, you know. In fact I wasn't quite sure I heard it.' 'A startled kind of cry?' 'That's more like it,' said Bobby gratefully. 'Sort of noise a fellow might let out if a ball hit him unexpectedly.' 'Or if he took a step into nothingness when he thought he was on a path?' 'Yes.' Then, having explained that the man actually died about five minutes after the doctor left to get help, Bobby's ordeal came to an end.

The coroner was by now anxious to get on with a perfectly straightforward business.

Mrs Leo Cayman was called.

Bobby gave a gasp of acute disappointment. Where was the face of the photo that had tumbled from the dead man's pocket? Photographers, thought Bobby disgustedly, were the worst kind of liars. The photo obviously must have been taken some years ago, but even then it was hard to believe that that charming wide-eyed beauty could have become this brazenlooking woman with plucked eyebrows and obviously dyed hair. Time, thought Bobby suddenly, was a very frightening thing. What would Frankie, for instance, look like in twenty years' time? He gave a little shiver.

Meanwhile, Amelia Cayman, of 17 St Leonard's Gardens, Paddington, was giving evidence.

Deceased was her only brother, Alexander Pritchard. She had last seen her brother the day before the tragedy when he had announced his intention of going for a walking tour in Wales. Her brother had recently returned from the East.

'Did he seem in a happy and normal state of mind?' 'Oh, quite. Alex was always cheerful.' 'So far as you know, he had nothing on his mind?' 'Oh! I'm sure he hadn't. He was looking forward to his trip.' 'There have been no money troubles - or other troubles of any kind in his life recently?' 'Well, really I couldn't say as to that,' said Mrs Cayman.

'You see, he'd only just come back, and before that I hadn't seen him for ten years and he was never one much for writing.

But he took me out to theatres and lunches in London and gave me one or two presents, so I don't think he could have been short of money, and he was in such good spirits that I don't think there could have been anything else.' 'What was your brother's profession, Mrs Cayman?' The lady seemed slightly embarrassed.