Still pondering over these questions, Mr. Satterthwaite made his return journey. He was cast down and despondent. His journey had done no good.
Smarting under a sense of failure, he made his way to the Arlecchino the day after his return. He hardly expected to be successful the first time, but to his satisfaction the familiar figure was sitting at the table in the recess, and the dark face of Mr. Harley Quin smiled a welcome.
"Well,” said Mr. Satterthwaite as he helped himself to a pat of butter, “you sent me on a nice wild-goose chase."
Mr. Quin raised his eyebrows.
"I sent you?” he objected. “It was your own idea entirely."
"Whosever idea it was, it's not succeeded. Louisa Bullard has nothing to tell."
Thereupon Mr. Satterthwaite related the details of his conversation with the housemaid and then went on to his interview with Mr. Denman. Mr. Quin listened in silence.
"In one sense, I was justified,” continued Mr. Satterthwaite. “She was deliberately got out of the way. But why? I can't see it."
"No?” said Mr. Quin, and his voice was, as ever, provocative.
Mr. Satterthwaite flushed.
"I dare say you think I might have questioned her more adroitly. I can assure you that I took her over the story again and again. It was not my fault that I did not get what we want."
"Are you sure,” said Mr. Quin, “that you did not get what you want?"
Mr. Satterthwaite looked up at him in astonishment, and met that sad, mocking gaze he knew so well.
The little man shook his head, slightly bewildered.
There was a silence, and then Mr. Quin said, with a total change of manner:
"You gave me a wonderful picture the other day of the people in this business. In a few words you made them stand out as clearly as though they were etched. I wish you would do something of that kind for the place—you left that in shadow."
Mr. Satterthwaite was flattered.
"The place? Deering Hill? Well, it's a very ordinary sort of house nowadays. Red brick, you know, and bay windows. Quite hideous outside, but very comfortable inside. Not a very large house. About two acres of ground. They're all much the same, those houses round the links. Built for rich men to live in. The inside of the house is reminiscent of a hotel—the bedrooms are like hotel suites. Baths and hot and cold basins in all the bedrooms and a good many gilded electric light fittings. All wonderfully comfortable, but not very country-like. You can tell that Deering Vale is only nineteen miles from London."
Mr. Quin listened attentively.
"The train service is bad, I have heard,” he remarked.
"Oh! I don't know about that,” said Mr. Satterthwaite, warming to his subject. “I was down there for a bit last summer. I found it quite convenient for town. Of course, the trains only go every hour. Forty-eight minutes past the hour from Waterloo—up to 10.48."
"And how long does it take to get to Deering Vale?"
"Just about three-quarters of an hour. Twenty-eight minutes past the hour at Deering Vale."
"Of course,” said Mr. Quin with a gesture of vexation, “I should have remembered. Miss Dale saw some one off by the 6.28 that evening, didn't she?"
Mr. Satterthwaite did not reply for a minute or two. His mind had gone back with a rush to his unsolved problem. Presently he said:
"I wish you would tell me what you meant just now when you asked me if I was sure I had not got what I wanted?"
It sounded rather complicated, put that way, but Mr. Quin made no pretence of not understanding.
"I just wondered if you weren't being a little too exacting. After all, you found out that Louisa Bullard was deliberately got out of the country. That being so, there must be a reason. And the reason must lie in what she said to you."
"Well,” said Mr. Satterthwaite argumentatively. “What did she say? If she'd given evidence at the trial, what could she have said?"
"She might have told what she saw,” said Mr. Quin.
"What did she see?"
"A sign in the sky."
Mr. Satterthwaite stared at him.
"Are you thinking of that nonsense. That superstitious notion of its being the hand of God?"
"Perhaps,” said Mr. Quin, “for all you and I know it may have been the hand of God, you know."
The other was clearly puzzled at the gravity of his manner.
"Nonsense,” he said. “She said herself it was the smoke of the train."
"An up train or a down train, I wonder?” murmured Mr. Quin.
"Hardly an up train. They go at ten minutes to the hour. It must have been a down train—the 6.28—no, that won't do. She said the shot came immediately afterwards, and we know the shot was fired at twenty minutes past six. The train couldn't have been ten minutes early."
"Hardly, on that line,” agreed Mr. Quin.
Mr. Satterthwaite was staring ahead of him.
"Perhaps a goods train,” he murmured. “But surely, if so—"
"There would have been no need to get her out of England. I agree,” said Mr. Quin.
Mr. Satterthwaite gazed at him, fascinated.
"The 6.28,” he said slowly. “But if so, if the shot was fired then, why did every one say it was earlier?"
"Obvious,” said Mr. Quin. “The clocks must have been wrong."
"All of them?” said Mr. Satterthwaite doubtfully. “That's a pretty tall coincidence, you know."
"I wasn't thinking of it as a coincidence,” said the other. “I was thinking that it was Friday."
"Friday?” said Mr. Satterthwaite.
"You did tell me, you know, that Sir George always wound the clocks on a Friday afternoon,” said Mr. Quin apologetically.
"He put them back ten minutes,” said Mr. Satterthwaite, almost in a whisper, so awed was he by the discoveries he was making. “Then he went out to bridge. I think he must have opened the note from his wife to Martin Wylde that morning—yes, decidedly he opened it. He left his bridge party at 6.30, found Martin's gun standing by the side door, and went in and shot her from behind. Then he went out again, threw the gun in the bushes where it was found later, and was apparently just coming out of the neighbour's gate when some one came running to fetch him. But the telephone—what about the telephone? Ah! yes, I see. He disconnected it so that a summons could not be sent to the police that way—they might have noted the time it was received. And Wylde's story works out now. The real time he left was five and twenty minutes past six. Walking slowly, he would reach home about a quarter to seven. Yes, I see it all. Louisa was the only danger with her endless talk about her superstitious fancies. Some one might realise the significance of the train and then—good-bye to that excellent alibi."
"Wonderful,” commented Mr. Quin.
Mr. Satterthwaite turned to him, flushed with success.
"The only thing is—how to proceed now?"
"I should suggest Sylvia Dale,” said Mr. Quin.
Mr. Satterthwaite looked doubtful.
"I mention to you,” he said, “she seemed to me a little—er—stupid."
"She has a father and brothers who will take the necessary steps."
"That is true,” said Mr. Satterthwaite, relieved.
A very short time afterwards he was sitting with the girl telling her the story. She listened attentively. She put no questions to him, but when he had done she rose.
"I must have a taxi—at once."
"My dear child, what are you going to do?"
"I am going to Sir George Barnaby."
"Impossible. Absolutely the wrong procedure. Allow me to—"
He twittered on by her side. But he produced no impression. Sylvia Dale was intent on her own plans. She allowed him to go with her in the taxi, but to all his remonstrances she addressed a deaf ear. She left him in the taxi, while she went into Sir George's city office.
It was half an hour later when she came out. She looked exhausted, her fair beauty drooping like a waterless flower. Mr. Satterthwaite received her
with concern.
"I've won,” she murmured, as she leant back with half-closed eyes.
"What?” he was startled. “What did you do? What did you say?"
She sat up a little.
"I told him that Louisa Bullard had been to the police with her story. I told him that the police had made inquiries and that he had been seen going into his own grounds and out again a few minutes after half-past six. I told him that the game was up. He—he went to pieces. I told him that there was still time for him to get away, that the police weren't coming for another hour to arrest him. I told him that if he'd sign a confession that he'd killed Vivien I'd do nothing, but that if he didn't I'd scream and tell the whole building the truth. He was so panicky that he didn't know what he was doing. He signed the paper without realising what he was doing."
She thrust it into his hands.
"Take it—take it. You know what to do with it so that they'll set Martin free."
"He actually signed it,” cried Mr. Satterthwaite, amazed.
"He is a little stupid, you know,” said Sylvia Dale. “So am I,” she added as an afterthought. “That's why I know how stupid people behave. We get rattled, you know, and then we do the wrong thing and are sorry afterwards."
She shivered, and Mr. Satterthwaite patted her hand.
"You need something to pull you together,” he said. “Come, we are very close to a very favourite resort of mine—the Arlecchino. Have you ever been there?"
She shook her head.
Mr. Satterthwaite stopped the taxi and took the girl into the little restaurant. He made his way to the table in the recess, his heart beating hopefully. But the table was empty.
Sylvia Dale saw the disappointment in his face.
"What is it?” she asked.
"Nothing,” said Mr. Satterthwaite. “That is, I half expected to see a friend of mine here. It doesn't matter. Some day, I expect, I shall see him again...."
From The Mysterious Mr. Quin (St. Martin's Minotaur). Copyright 1930 by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc. Copyright renewed 1957 by Agatha Christie Mallowan.
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INDEX: VOLUME FIFTY-THREE 2008
Alderman, Mitch
Family Values ... Jun 23
Alexander, Gary
Pickled Zillionaires ... May 38
Allyn, Doug
The Killing Farm ... Mar 74
Betancourt, John Gregory
Horse Pit ... Jul/Aug 186
Black, Terry
Claustrophobe ... Jul/Aug 175
Boland, John C.
Sargasso Sea ... Sep 22
Brown, Alice A.
Haven't Seen You Since the Funeral
...Dec 25
Brown, Ernest B.
Haven't Seen You Since the Funeral ... Dec 25
Bruce, Leo
I, Said the Sparrow ... Jun 135
Chambers, William E.
If I Quench Thee ... Apr 134
Christie, Agatha
The Sign in the Sky ... Dec 93
Cleland, Jane K.
Killing Time ... Nov 4
De Noux, O'Neil
No. 40 Basin Street ... Nov 82
Decker, Sherry
The Proper Application of Pressure to a Wound ... Dec 50
Dirckx, John H.
Numskulduggery ... Jan/Feb 177
Code Black ... Jul/Aug 131
First Cousin, Twice Removed ... Sep 86
Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan
The Adventure of the Red Circle ... Mar 123
Druett, Joan
Murder in the Hold ... Jul/Aug 158
DuBois, Brendan
The Final Catch ... Mar 36
The Treasure Hunter ... Jul/Aug 116
Estleman, Loren D.
How's My Driving? ... Jan/Feb 70
The Latin Beat ... Jun 6
Sob Sister ... Nov 52
Faherty, Terence
The Four Castles ... Oct 55
Femling, Jean
Shalimar Beach ... Sep 125
Fisher, Eve The Lagoon ... Apr 68
Freeman, R. Austin
The Blue Sequin ... Oct 125
Gates, David Edgerley
Set ‘Em Up, Joe ... Mar 24
Skin and Bones ... Oct 18
Grant, Cathryn
Talking Herself to Death ... Apr 50 Harrison, Jodi Tamara
Black Water, Bad Heart ... Jun 126
Hayden, G. Miki
A Killing in Midtown ... Jan/Feb 43
The Birthday Watch ... Sep 112
Hoch, Edward D.
Messenger from Hades ... Apr 94
Baja ... Sep 30
Hocking, Silas K.
A Perverted Genius ... Nov 128
Hubbard, S. W.
Chainsaw Nativity ... Jan/Feb 6
Johnston, Stephen Cookies ... Jun 42
Kelner, Toni L. P.
Kangaroo Court ... May 78
Kid-o, Okamoto
The Room over the Bathhouse ... May 119
Law, Janice
Golden Years ... Jan/Feb 120
Lawton, R. T.
Click, Click, Click ... Jan/Feb 59
The Length of a Straw ... Mar 60
The Bondholder ... May 92
Grave Trouble ... Dec 60
Levinson, Robert S.
The Quick Brown Fox ... Oct 106
Lewin, Michael Z.
Death Row ... Mar 100
Limon, Martin
The Opposite of O ... Jul/Aug 16
Lindley, Steve
Death Takes Center Stage ... Jan/Feb 80
London, Jack
The Leopard Man's Story ... Sep 136
Lopresti, Robert
The Hard Case ... Apr 41
Ludwigsen, Will
In Search Of ... Jun 58
Lundin, Leigh 8 Across ... Apr 72
Mackay, Scott Horse Friends ... Mar 6
MacRae, Molly Cookies ... Jun 42
McGuire, D. A.
Catch Your Death ... Oct 74
McLean, Russel D.
What Friends Are For ... Apr 26
Davey's Daughter ... Sep 70
Menge, Elaine
Best of Breed ... Jan/Feb 130
Smart Pigs and Sour Gas ... Jul/Aug 5
Moffitt, Donald
Feat of Clay ... Sep 46
Myers, Amy
Tom Wasp and the Tower of London ... Jul/Aug 40
Petrin, Jas. R.
Gang of Three ... May 54
Law and Order ... Jul/Aug 54
Powell, James
Red Herring House ... May 110
Rehder, Ben
Mind Game ... Jul/Aug 150
Roe, Judy
Murder in the Barrens ... Apr 110
Rogers, Chris
Comes Around ... Dec 44
Rusch, Kristine Kathryn
Discovery ... Nov 36
Rutter, Eric
The Voice at the Barbican Gate ... Jan/Feb 20
Rzetelny, Harriet
Death of an Anarchist ... Sep 6
Schweitzer, Darrell
The Stolen Venus ... Oct 4
Sellers, Peter Blind Side ... Nov 22
Somasundrum, Mithran
Under Sapparn Put ... Jun 62
Stack, Gilbert M.
Pandora's Ghost Town ... Jan/Feb 203
Pandora's Demon ... Jul/Aug 78
Guilt ... Dec 4
Stevens, B. K.
Table for None ... May 4
Stodghill, Dick
Panic on Portage Path ... Jan/Feb 158
Strong, Marianne Wilski
Case Capped ... Apr 46
Death in the Keramikos Cemetery ... Jun 80
A Private Battle ... Jul/Aug 94
Thorland, Donna
The Road to the Airport ... Mar 94
Thornton, Brian
Suicide Blonde ... Nov 109
Van Pelt, James
Carrying the News for a Dead Paperboy ... Dec 76
&nbs
p; Warren, James Lincoln
Cold Reason ... Apr 4
The Warcoombe Witch ... Nov 70
Wiecek, Mike Soldiers ... Jun 112
Woodward, Ann
The Gingko Leaf ... Jan/Feb 108
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COMING IN JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2009
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