By The Pricking of My Thumbs by Christie Agatha

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

By The Pricking of My Thumbs

II

The faithful Albert opened the front door with a beaming smile of welcome.

'Glad to see you back, sir.'

'I'm glad to be back.' Tommy surrendered his suitcase.

'Where's Mrs Beresford?'

'Not back yet, sir.'

'Do you mean she's away?'

'Been away three or four days. But she'll be back for dinner. She rang up yesterday and said so.'

'What's she up to, Albert?'

'I couldn't say, sir. She took the car, but she took a lot of railway guides as well. She might be anywhere, as you might say.'

'You might indeed,' said Tommy with feeling. 'John o' Groat's - or Land's End - and probably missed the connection at Little Dither on the Marsh on the way back. God bless British Railways. She rang up yesterday, you say. Did she say where she was ringing from?'

'She didn't say.'

'What time yesterday was this?'

'Yesterday morning. Before lunch. Just said everything was all right. She wasn't quite sure of what time she'd get home, but she thought she'd be back well before dinner and suggested a chicken. That do you all right, sir?'

'Yes,' said Tommy, regarding his watch, 'but she'll have to make it pretty quickly now.'

'I'll hold the chicken back,' said Albert.

Tommy grinned. 'That's right,' he said. 'Catch it by the tail. How've you been, Albert? All well at home?'

'Had a scare of measles but it's all right. Doctor says it's only strawberry rash.'

'Good,' said Tommy. He went upstairs, whistling a tune to himself. He went into the bathroom, shaved and washed, strode from there into the bedroom and looked around him. It had that curious look of disoccupancy some bedrooms put on when their owner is away. Its atmosphere was cold and unfriendly. Everything was scrupulously tidy and scrupulously clean. Tommy had the depressed feeling that a faithful dog might have had. Looking round him, he thought it was as though Tuppence had never been. No spilled powder, no book cast down open with its back splayed out.

'Sir.'

It was Albert, standing in the doorway.

'Well?'

'I'm getting worried about the chicken.'

'Oh damn the chicken,' said Tommy. 'You seem to have that chicken on your nerves.'

'Well, I took it as you and she wouldn't be later than eight. Not later than eight, sitting down, I mean.'

'I should have thought so, too,' said Tommy, glancing at his wristwatch. 'Good Lord, is it nearly five and twenty to nine?'

'Yes it is, sir. And the chicken...'

'Oh, come on,' said Tommy, 'you get that chicken out of the oven and you and I'll eat it between us. Serve Tuppence right. Getting back well before dinner indeed!'

'Of course some people do eat dinner late,' said Albert. 'I went to Spain once and believe me, you couldn't get a meal before ten o'clock. Ten P.M. I ask you! Heathens!'

'All right,' said Tommy, absentmindedly. 'By the way, have you no idea where she has been all this time?'

'You mean the missus? I dunno, sir. Rushing around, I'd say. Her first idea was going to places by train, as far as I can make out.

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