Agatha Christie Other - 15 - The Pale Horse by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
Published: 2010-06-22T23:00:00+00:00

The Pale Horse

Chapter 13

I approached my task of interviewing Mrs Tuckerton with the utmost reluctance. Goaded to it by Ginger, I was still far from convinced of its wisdom. To begin with I felt myself unfitted for the task I had set myself. I was doubtful of my ability to produce the needed reaction, and I was acutely conscious of masquerading under false colours.

Ginger, with the almost terrifying efficiency which she was able to display when it suited her, had briefed me by telephone.

“It will be quite simple. It's a Nash house. Not the usual style one associates with him. One of his near-Gothic flights of fancy.”

“And why should I want to see it?”

“You're considering writing an article or a book on the influences that cause fluctuation of an architect's style. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds very bogus to me,” I said.

“Nonsense,” said Ginger robustly. “When you get on to learned subjects, or arty ones, the most incredible theories are propounded and written about, in the utmost seriousness, by the most unlikely people. I could quote you chapters of tosh.”

“That's why you would really be a much better person to do this than I am.”

“That's where you are wrong,” Ginger told me. “Mrs T. can look you up in Who's Who and be properly impressed. She can't look me up there.”

I remained unconvinced, though temporarily defeated.

On my return from my incredible interview with Mr Bradley, Ginger and I had put our heads together. It was less incredible to her than it was to me. It afforded her, indeed, a distinct satisfaction.

“It puts an end to whether we're imagining things or not,” she pointed out. “Now we know that an organization does exist for getting unwanted people out of the way.”

“By supernatural means!”

“You're so hidebound in your thinking. It's all that wispiness and the false scarabs that Sybil wears. It puts you off. And if Mr Bradley had turned out to be a quack practitioner, or a pseudo-astrologer, you'd still be unconvinced. But since he turns out to be a nasty down-to-earth little legal crook - or that's the impression you give me -”

“Near enough,” I said.

“Then that makes the whole thing come into line. However phony it may sound, those three women at the Pale Horse have got hold of something that works.”

“If you're so convinced, then why Mrs Tuckerton?”

“Extra check,” said Ginger. “We know what Thyrza Grey says she can do. We know how the financial side is worked. We know a little about three of the victims. We want to know more about the client angle.”

“And suppose Mrs Tuckerton shows no signs of having been a client?”

“Then we'll have to investigate elsewhere.”

“Of course, I may boob it,” I said gloomily.

Ginger said that I must think better of myself than that.

So here I was, arriving at the front door of Carraway Park. It certainly did not look like my preconceived idea of a Nash house. In many ways it was a near castle of modest proportions. Ginger had promised to

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