At Bertram's Hotel by Christie Agatha

Author:Christie, Agatha [Agatha, Christie,]
Format: epub, azw3, mobi, pdf
Published: 2010-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

At Bertram's Hotel

Chapter 14

“You know,” said Chief Inspector Davy thoughtfully, “I don't much like that chap Humfries.”

“Think there's something wrong with him?” asked Campbell.

“Well -” Father sounded apologetic, “you know the sort of feeling one gets. Smarmy sort of chap. I wonder if he's the owner or only manager.”

“I could ask him.” Campbell took a step back towards the desk.

“No, don't ask him,” said Father. “Just find out - quietly.”

Campbell looked at him curiously. “What's on your mind, sir?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Father. “I just think I'd like to have a good deal more information about this place. I'd like to know who is behind it, what its financial status is. All that sort of thing.”

Campbell shook his head. “I should have said if there was one place in London that was absolutely above suspicion -”

“I know, I know,” said Father. “And what a useful thing it is to have that reputation!”

Campbell shook his head again and left. Father went down the passage to the smoking room. General Radley was just waking up. The Times had slipped from his knees and disintegrated slightly. Father picked it up and reassembled the sheets and handed it to him.

“Thank ye, sir. Very kind,” said General Radley gruffly.

“General Radley?”

“Yes.”

“You'll excuse me,” said Father, raising his voice, “but I want to speak to you about Canon Pennyfather.”

“Eh - what's that?” The general approached a hand to his ear.

“Canon Pennyfather,” bellowed Father.

“My father? Dead years ago.”

“Canon Pennyfather.”

“Oh. What about him? Saw him the other day. He was staying here.”

“There was an address he was going to give me. Said he'd leave it with you.”

This was rather more difficult to get over but he succeeded in the end.

“Never gave me any address. Must have mixed me up with somebody else. Muddle-headed old fool. Always was. Scholarly sort of chap, you know. They're always absent-minded.”

Father persevered for a little longer but soon decided that conversation with General Radley was practically impossible and almost certainly unprofitable. He went and sat down in the lounge at a table adjacent to that of Miss Jane Marple.

“Tea, sir?”

Father looked up. He was impressed, as everyone was impressed by Henry's personality. Though such a large and portly man, he had appeared, as it were, like some vast travesty of Ariel who could materialize and vanish at will. Father ordered tea.

“Did I see you've got muffins here?” he asked.

Henry smiled benignly. “Yes, sir. Very good indeed our muffins are, if I may say so. Everyone enjoys them. Shall I order you muffins, sir? Indian or China tea?”

“Indian,” said Father. “Or Ceylon if you've got it.”

“Certainly we have Ceylon, sir.”

Henry made the faintest gesture with a finger and the pale young man who was his minion departed in search of Ceylon tea and muffins. Henry moved graciously elsewhere.

You're someone, you are, thought Father. I wonder where they got hold of you and what they pay you. A packet, I bet, and you'd be worth it. He watched Henry bending in a fatherly manner over an elderly lady.

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