'That's going to make it even more difficult.' 'How about the post office?' suggested Bobby.
They were just passing it. In appearance it was more of a general store than a post office.
Frankie darted inside and opened the campaign. There was no one else in the shop except the postmistress - a young woman with an inquisitive nose.
Frankie bought a two-shilling book of stamps, commented on the weather and then said: 'But I expect you always have better weather here than we do in my part of the world. I live in Wales - Marchbolt. You wouldn't believe the rain we have.' The young woman with the nose said that they had a good deal of rain themselves and last Bank Holiday it had rained something cruel.
Frankie said: 'There's someone in Marchbolt who comes from this part of the world. I wonder if you know her. Her name was Evans - Gladys Evans.' The young woman was quite unsuspicious.
'Why, of course,' she said. She was in service here. At Tudor Cottage. But she didn't come from these parts. She came from Wales and she went back there and married - Roberts her name is now.' 'That's right,' said Frankie. 'You can't give me her address, I suppose? I borrowed a raincoat from her and forgot to give it back. If I had her address I'd post it to her.' 'Well now,' the other replied, 'I believe I can. I get a p.c. from her now and again. She and her husband have gone into service together. Wait a minute now.' She went away and rummaged in a corner. Presently she returned with a piece of paper in her hand.
'Here you are,' she said, pushing it across the counter.
Bobby and Frankie read it together. It was the last thing in the world they expected.
'Mrs Roberts, The Vicarage, Marchbolt, Wales.'
CHAPTER 33 Sensation in the Orient Cafe
How Bobby and Frankie got out of the post office without disgracing themselves neither of them ever knew.
Outside, with one accord, they looked at each other and shook with laugher.
'At the Vicarage - all the time!' gasped Bobby.
'And I looked through four hundred and eighty Evans,' lamented Frankie.
'Now I see why Bassington-ffrench was so amused when he realized we didn't know in the least who Evans was!' 'And of course it was dangerous from their point of view.
You and Evans were actually under the same roof.' 'Come on,' said Bobby. 'Marchbolt's the next place.' 'Like where the rainbow ends,' said Frankie. 'Back to the dear old home.' 'Dash it all,' said Bobby, 'we must do something about Badger. Have you any money, Frankie?' Frankie opened her bag and took out a handful of notes.
'Give these to him and tell him to make some arrangement with his creditors and that Father will buy the garage and put him in as manager.' 'All right,' said Bobby. 'The great thing is to get off quickly.' 'Why this frightful haste?' 'I don't know - but I've a feeling something might happen.' 'How awful. Let's go ever so quickly.' 'I'll settle Badger. You go and start the car.' 'I shall never buy that toothbrush,' said Frankie.
Five minutes saw them speeding out of Chipping Somerton.
Bobby had no occasion to complain of lack of speed.
Nevertheless, Frankie suddenly said: 'Look here, Bobby, this isn't quick enough.' Bobby glanced at the speedometer needle, which was, at the moment, registering eighty, and remarked dryly: 'I don't see what more we can do.' 'We can take an air taxi,' said Frankie. 'We're only about seven miles from Medeshot Aerodrome.' 'My dear girl!' said Bobby.
'If we do that we'll be home in a couple of hours.' 'Good,' said Bobby. 'Let's take an air taxi.' The whole proceedings were beginning to take on the fantastic character of a dream. Why this wild hurry to get to Marchbolt? Bobby didn't know. He suspected that Frankie didn't know either. It was just a feeling.
At Medeshot Frankie asked for Mr Donald King and an untidy-looking young man was produced who appeared languidly surprised at the sight of her.
'Hullo, Frankie,' he said. 'I haven't seen you for an age.
What do you want?' 'I want an air taxi,' said Frankie. 'You do that sort of thing, don't you?' 'Oh! yes. Where do you want to go?' 'I want to get home quickly,' said Frankie.
Mr Donald King raised his eyebrows.
'Is that all?' he asked.
'Not quite,' said Frankie. 'But it's the main idea.' 'Oh! well, we can soon fix you up.' 'I'll give you a cheque,' said Frankie.
Five minutes later they were off.
'Frankie,' said Bobby. 'Why are we doing this?' 'I haven't the faintest idea,' said Frankie. 'But I feel we must.
Don't you?' 'Curiously enough, I do. But I don't know why. After all our Mrs Roberts won't fly away on a broomstick.' 'She might. Remember, we don't know what Bassingtonffrench is up to.' 'That's true,' said Bobby thoughtfully.
It was growing late when they reached their destination. The plane landed them in the Park and five minutes later Bobby and Frankie were driving into Marchbolt in Lord Marchington's Chrysler.
They pulled up outside the Vicarage gate, the Vicarage drive not lending itself to the turning of expensive cars.
Then jumping out they ran up the drive.
'I shall wake up soon,' thought Bobby. 'What are we doing and why?' A slender figure was standing on the doorstep. Frankie and Bobby recognized her at the same minute.
'Moira!' cried Frankie.
Moira turned. She was swaying slightly.
'Oh! I'm so glad to see you. I don't know what to do.' 'But what on earth brings you here?' 'The same thing that has brought you, I expect.' 'You have found out who Evans is?' asked Bobby.
Moira nodded.
'Yes, it's a long story ' 'Come inside,' said Bobby.
But Moira shrank back.
'No, no,' she said hurriedly. 'Let's go somewhere and talk.
There's something I must tell you - before we go into the house. Isn't there a cafe or some place like that in the town?
Somewhere where we could go?' 'All right,' said Bobby, moving unwillingly away from the door. 'But why ' Moira stamped her foot.
'You'll see when I tell you. Oh! do come. There's not a minute to lose.' They yielded to her urgency. About half-way down the main street was the Orient Cafe - a somewhat grand name not borne out by the interior decoration. The three of them filed in. It was a slack moment - half-past six.
They sat down at a small table in the corner and Bobby ordered three coffees.
'Now then?' he said.
'Wait till she's brought the coffee,' said Moira.
The waitress returned and listlessly deposited three cups of tepid coffee in front of them.
'Now then,' said Bobby.
'I hardly know where to begin,' said Moira. 'It was in the train going to London. Really, the most amazing coincidence.
I went along the corridor and ' She broke off. Her seat faced the door and she leant forward, staring.
'He must have followed me,' she said.
'Who?' cried Frankie and Bobby together.
'Bassington-ffrench,' whispered Moira.
'You've seen him?' 'He's outside. I saw him with a woman with red hair.' 'Mrs Cayman,' cried Frankie.
She and Bobby jumped and ran to the door. A protest came from Moira but neither of them heeded it. They looked up and down the street but Bassington-ffrench was nowhere in sight.
Moira joined them.
'Has he gone?' she asked, her voice trembling. 'Oh! do be careful. He's dangerous - horribly dangerous.' 'He can't do anything so long as we're all together,' said Bobby.
'Brace up, Moira,' said Frankie. 'Don't be such a rabbit.' 'Well, we can't do anything for the moment,' said Bobby, leading the way back to the table. 'Go on with what you were telling us, Moira.' He picked up his cup of coffee. Frankie lost her balance and fell against him and the coffee poured over the table.
'Sorry,' said Frankie.
She stretched over the adjoining table which was laid for possible diners. There was a cruet on it with two glass stoppered bottles containing oil and vinegar.
The oddity of Frankie's proceedings riveted Bobby's attention.
She took the vinegar bo
ttle, emptied out the vinegar into the slop bowl and began to pour coffee into it from her cup.
'Have you gone batty, Frankie?' asked Bobby. 'What the devil are you doing?' 'Taking a sample of this coffee for George Arbuthnot to analyse,' said Frankie.
She turned to Moira.
'The game's up, Moira! The whole thing came to me in a flash as we stood at the door just now! When I jogged Bobby's elbow and made him spill his coffee I saw your face. You put something in our cups when you sent us running to the door to look for Bassington-ffrench. The game's up, Mrs Nicholson or Templeton or whatever you like to call yourself'.' 'Templeton?' cried Bobby.
'Look at her face,' cried Frankie. 'If she denies it ask her to come to the Vicarage and see if Mrs Roberts doesn't identify her.' Bobby did look at her. He saw that face, that haunting, wistful face transformed by a demoniac rage. That beautiful mouth opened and a stream of foul and hideous curses poured out.
She fumbled in her handbag.
Bobby was still dazed but he acted in the nick of time.
It was his hand that struck the pistol up.
The bullet passed over Frankie's head and buried itself in the wall of the Orient Cafe.
For the first time in its history one of the waitresses hurried.
With a wild scream she shot out into the street calling: 'Help!
Murder! Police!'
CHAPTER 34 Letter from South America
It was some weeks later.
Frankie had just received a letter. It bore the stamp of one of the less well-known South American republics.
After reading it through, she passed it to Bobby.
It ran as follows: Dear Frankie, Really, I congratulate you! You and your young naval friend have shattered the plans of a life-time. I had everything so nicely arranged.
Would you really like to hear all about it? My lady friend has given me away so thoroughly (spite, I'm afraid - women are invariable spiteful!) that my most damaging admissions won't do me any further harm. Besides, I am starting life again. Roger Bassington-ffrench is dead.
I fancy I've always been what they call a 'wrong 'un'. Even at Oxford I had a little lapse. Stupid, because it was bound to be found out. The Pater didn't let me down. But he sent me to the Colonies.
I fell in with Moira and her lot fairly soon. She was the real thing.. She was an accomplished criminal by the time she was fifteen. When I met her things were getting a bit too hot for her.
The American police were on her trail.
She and I liked each other. We decided to make a match of it but we'd a few plans to carry through first.
To begin with, she married Nicholson. By doing so she removed herself to another world and the police lost sight of her. Nicholson was just coming over to England to start a place for nerve patients.
He was looking for a suitable house to buy cheap. Moira got him on to the Grange.
She was still working in with her gang in the dope business.
Without knowing it, Nicholson was very useful to her.
I had always had two ambitions. I wanted to be the owner of Merroway and I wanted to command an immense amount of money. A Bassington-ffrench played a great part in the reign of Charles II. Since then the family has dwindled down to mediocrity.
I felt capable of playing a great part again. But I had to have money.
Moira made several trips across to Canada to 'see her people'.
Nicholson adored her and believed anything she told him. Most men did. Owing to the complications of the drug business she travelled under various names. She was travelling as Mrs Templeton when she met Savage. She knew all about Savage and his enormous wealth and she went all out for him. He was attracted, but he wasn 't attracted enough to lose his common sense.
However, we concocted a plan. You know pretty well the story of that. The man you know as Cayman acted the part of the unfeeling husband. Savage was induced to come down and stay at Tudor Cottage more than once. The third time he came our plans were laid. I needn't go into all that -you know it. The whole thing went with a bang. Moira cleared the money and went of if ostensibly abroad - in reality back to Staverley and the Grange.
In the meantime, I was perfecting my own plans. Henry and young Tommy had to be got out of the way. I had bad luck over Tommy. A couple of perfectly good accidents went wrong. I wasn't going to fool about with accidents in Henry's case. He had a good deal of rheumatic pain after an accident in the hunting field. I introduced him to morphia. He took it in all good faith. Henry was a simple soul. He soon became an addict. Our plan was that he should go to the Grange for treatment and should there either 'commit suicide' or get hold of an overdose of morphia. Moira would do the business. I shouldn 't be connected with it in any way.
And then that fool Car stairs began to be active. It seems that Savage had written him a line on board ship mentioning Mrs Templeton and even enclosing a snapshot of her. Carstairs went on a shooting trip soon afterwards. When he came back from the wilds and heard the news of Savage's death and will, he was frankly incredulous. The story didn 't ring true to him. He was certain that Savage wasn't worried about his death and he didn't believe he had any special fear of cancer. Also the wording of the will sounded to him highly uncharacteristic. Savage was a hard-headed business man and while he might be quite ready to have an affair with a pretty woman, Carstairs didn't believe he would leave a vast sum of money to her and the rest to charity. The charity touch was my idea. It sounded so respectable and unfishy.
Carstairs came over here, determined to look into the business.
He began to poke about.
And straightaway we had a piece of bad luck. Some friends brought him down to lunch and he saw a picture of Moira on the piano, and recognized it as the woman of the snapshot that Savage had sent him. He went down to Chipping Somerton and started to poke about there.
Moira and I began to get the wind up - I sometimes think unnecessarily. But Carstairs was a shrewd chap.
I went down to Chipping Somerton after him. He failed to trace the cook - Rose Chudleigh. She'd gone to the north, but he tracked down Evans, found out her married name and started of if for Marchbolt.
Things were getting serious. If Evans identified Mrs Templeton and Mrs Nicholson as one and the same person matters were going to become difficult. Also, she 'd been in the house some time and we weren 't sure quite how much she might know.
I decided that Carstairs had got to be suppressed. He was making a serious nuisance of himself. Chance came to my aid. I was close behind him when the mist came up. I crept up nearer and a sudden push did the job.
But I was still in a dilemma. I didn't know what incriminating matter he might have on him. However, your young naval friend played into my hands very nicely. I was left alone with the body for a short time - quite enough for my purpose. He had a photograph of Moira - he'd got it from the photographers - presumably for identification. I removed that and any letters or identifying matter. Then I planted the photograph of one of the gang.
All went well. The pseudo sister and brother-in-law came down and identified him. All seemed to have gone off satisfactorily. And then your friend Bobby upset things. It seemed that Carstairs had recovered consciousness before he died and that he had been saying things. He 'd mentioned Evans - and Evans was actually in service at the Vicarage.
I admit we were getting rattled by now. We lost our heads a bit.
Moira insisted that he must be put out of the way. We tried one plan which failed. Then Moira said she 'd see to it. She went down to Marchbolt in the car. She seized a chance very neatly - slipped some morphia into his beer when he was asleep. But the young devil didn't succumb. That was pure bad luck.
As I told you, it was Nicholson 's cross-questioning that made me wonder if you were just what you seemed. But imagine the shock that Moira had when she was creeping out to meet me one evening and came face to face with Bobby! She recognized him at once she 'd had a good look when he was asleep that day. No wonder she
was so scared she nearly passed out. Then she realized that it wasn't her he suspected and she rallied and played up.
She came to the inn and told him a few tall stories. He swallowed them like a lamb. She pretended that Alan Carstairs was an old lover and she piled it on thick about her fear of Nicholson. Also she did her best to disabuse you of your suspicions concerning me. I did the same to you and disparaged her as a weak, helpless creature - Moira, who had the nerve to put any number of people out of the way without turning a hair!
The position was serious. We'd got the money. We were getting on well with the Henry plan. I was in no hurry for Tommy. I could afford to wait a bit. Nicholson could easily be got out of the way when the time came. But you and Bobby were a menace. You'd got your suspicions fixed on the Grange.
Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans Page 20