I heard her voice, slightly raised, as she
26
entered the drawing-room below on the first
floor.
"Well, Henry, why on earth——" I lost the
rest, but the acerbity of the tone was evident.
And a few minutes later another phrase
floated up to me, in an even more acid voice:
"I agree with you! She is certainly very goodlooking."
It
is really a very hard life. Men will not be
nice to you if you are not good-looking, and
women will not be nice to you if you are.
With a deep sigh I proceeded to do things
to my hair. I have nice hair. It is black—a real
black, not dark brown—and it grows well
back from my forehead and down over the
ears. With a ruthless hand I dragged it
upwards. As ears, my ears are quite all right,
but there is no doubt about it, ears are demode
nowadays. They are like the "Queen of
Spain's legs" in Professor Peterson's young
day. When I had finished I looked almost
unbelievably like the kind of orphan that
walks out in a queue with a little bonnet and a
red cloak.
I noticed when I went down that Mrs.
Flemming's eyes rested on my exposed ears
with quite a kindly glance. Mr. Flemming
seemed puzzled. I had no doubt that he was
TMITBS3 27
saying to himself. "What has the child done
to herself?"
On the whole the rest of the day passed off
well. It was settled that I was to start at once
to look for something to do.
When I went to bed, I stared earnestly at
my face in the glass. Was I really goodlooking?
Honestly I couldn't say I thought so!
I hadn't got a straight Grecian nose, or a
rosebud mouth, or any of the things you
ought to have. It is true that a curate once
told me that my eyes were like "imprisoned
sunshine in a dark, dark wood"—but curates
always know so many quotations, and fire
them off at random. I'd much prefer to have
Irish blue eyes than dark green ones with
yellow flecks! Still, green is a good colour for
adventuresses.
I wound a black garment tightly round me,
leaving my arms and shoulders bare. Then I
brushed back my hair and pulled it well down
over my ears again. I put a lot of powder on
my face, so that the skin seemed even whiter
than usual. I fished about until I found some
old lip-salve, and I put oceans of it on my
lips. Then I did under my eyes with burnt
cork. Finally, I draped a red ribbon over my
bare shoulder, stuck a scarlet feather in my
28
hair, and placed a cigarette in one corner of
my mouth. The whole effect pleased me very
much.
"Anna the Adventuress," I said aloud,
nodding at my reflection. "Anna the
Adventuress. Episode I, 'The House in
Kensington'!"
Girls are foolish things.
29
3
IN the succeeding weeks I was a good deal
bored. Mrs. Flemming and her friends
seemed to be supremely uninteresting.
They talked for hours of themselves and their
children and of the difficulties of getting good
milk for the children and of what they said to
the dairy when the milk wasn't good. Then
they would go on to servants, and the
difficulties of getting good servants and of
what they had said to the woman at the
registry office and of what the woman at the
registry office had said to them. They never
seemed to read the papers or to care about
what went on in the world. They disliked
travelling--everything was so different to
England. The Riviera was all right, of course,
because one met all one's friends there.
I listened and contained myself with difficulty.
Most of these women were rich. The
whole wide beautiful world was theirs to
wander in and they deliberately stayed in
dirty dull London and talked about milkmen
and servants! I think now, looking back, that
30
I was perhaps a shade intolerant. But they were stupid--stupid even at their chosen job:
most of them kept the most extraordinarily
inadequate and muddled housekeeping
accounts.
My affairs did not progress very fast. The
house and furniture had been sold, and the
amount realized had just covered our debts.
As yet, I had not been successful in finding a
post. Not that I really wanted one! I had the
firm conviction that, if I went about looking
for adventure, adventure would meet me halfway.
It is a theory of mine that one always
gets what one wants.
My theory was about to be proved in
practice.
It was early in January--the 8th, to be
exact. I was returning from an unsuccessful
interview with a lady who said she wanted a
secretary-companion, but really seemed to
require a strong charwoman who could work
twelve hours a day for 25 pounds a year. Having
parted with mutual veiled impolitenesses, I
walked down Edgware Road (the interview
had taken place in a house in St. John's
Wood), and across Hyde Park to St. George's
Hospital. There I entered Hyde Park Corner
31
Tube Station and took a ticket to Gloucester
Road.
Once on the platform I walked to the
extreme end of it. My inquiring mind wished
to satisfy itself as to whether there really were
points and an opening between the two
tunnels just beyond the station in the
direction of Down Street. I was foolishly
pleased to find I was right. There were not
many people on the platform, and at the
extreme end there was only myself and one
man. As I passed him, I sniffed dubiously. If
there is one smell I cannot bear it is that of
moth-balls! This man's heavy overcoat
simply reeked of them. And yet most men
begin to wear their winter overcoats before
January, and consequently by this time the
smell ought to have worn off. The man was
beyond me, standing close to the edge of the
tunnel. He seemed lost in thought, and I was
able to stare at him without rudeness. He was
a small thin man, very brown of face, with
blue light eyes and a small dark beard.
"Just come from abroad," I deduced.
"That's why his overcoat smells so. He's
come from India. Not an officer, or he
wouldn't have a beard. Perhaps a
tea-planter."
32
At this moment the man turned as though
to retrace his steps along the platform. He
glanced at me and then his eyes went on to
something behind me, and his face changed.
It was distorted by fear--almost panic. He
took a step backwards as though involuntarily
recoiling from some danger, forgetting that
he was standing on the extreme edge of the
platform, and went down and over. There
was a vivid flash from the rails and a
crackling sound. I shrieked. People came
running up. Two station officials seemed to
materialize from nowhere and took
command.
I remained where I was, rooted to the spot
by a sort of horrible fascination. Part of me
was appalled at the sudden disaster, and
another part of me was coolly and dispassionately
interested in the methods employed for
lifting the man off the live rail and back on to
the platform.
"Let me pass, please. I am a medical man."
A tall man with a brown beard pressed past
me and bent over the motionless body.
As he examined it, a curious sense of
unreality seemed to possess me. The thing
wasn't real--couldn't be. Finally, the doctor
stood upright and shook his head.
33
"Dead as a door-nail. Nothing to be done."
We had all crowded nearer, and an
aggrieved porter raised his voice. "Now then,
stand back there, will you? What's the sense
in crowding round?"
A sudden nausea seized me, and I turned
blindly and ran up the stairs again towards
the lift. I felt that it was too horrible. I must
get out into the open air. The doctor who had
examined the body was just ahead of me. The
lift was just about to go up, another having
descended, and he broke into a run. As he did
so, he dropped a piece of paper.
I stopped, picked it up, and ran after him.
But the lift gates clanged in my face, and I
was left holding the paper in my hand. By the
time the second lift reached the street level,
there was no sign of my quarry. I hoped it
was nothing important that he had lost, and
for the first time I examined it. It was a plain
half-sheet ofnotepaper with some figures and
words scrawled upon it in pencil. This is a
facsimile of it:
17-122 Kilmorden Castle
On the face of it, it certainly did not appear
to be of any importance. Still, I hesitated to
34
throw it away. As I stood there holding it, I
involuntarily wrinkled my nose in displeasure.
Moth-balls again! I held the paper
gingerly to my nose. Yes, it smelt strongly of
them. But, then----
I folded up the paper carefully and put it in
my bag. I walked home slowly and did a good
deal of thinking.
I explained to Mrs. Flemming that I had
witnessed a nasty accident-in the Tube and
that I was rather upset and would go to my
room and lie down. The kind woman insisted
on my having a cup of tea. After that I was
left to my own devices, and I proceeded to
carry out a plan I had formed coming home. I
wanted to know what it was that had
produced that curious feeling of unreality
whilst I was watching the doctor examine the
body. First I lay down on the floor in the
attitude of the corpse, then I laid a bolster
down in my stead, and proceeded to
duplicate, so far as I could remember, every
motion and gesture of the doctor. When I had
finished I had got what I wanted. I sat back
on my heels and frowned at the opposite
walls.
There was a brief notice in the evening
papers that a man had been killed in the
35
Tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it
was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to
make my duty clear, and when Mr.
Flemming heard my story he quite agreed
with me.
"Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the
inquest. You say no one else was near enough
to see what happened?"
<
behind me, but I can't be sure--and, anyway,
they wouldn't be as near as I was."
The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made
all the arrangements and took me there with
him. He seemed to fear that it would be a
great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from
him my complete composure.
The deceased had been identified as L. B.
Carton. Nothing had been found in his
pockets except a house-agent's order to view a
house on the river near Marlow. It was in the
name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The
bureau clerk from the hotel identified the
man as having arrived the day before and
booked a room under that name. He had
registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S.
Africa. He had evidently come straight off the
steamer.
36
I was the only person who had seen
anything of the affair.
"You think it was an accident?" the
coroner asked me.
"I am positive of it. Something alarmed
him, and he stepped backwards blindly
without thinking what he was doing."
"But what could have alarmed him?"
"That I don't know. But there was something.
He looked panic-stricken."
A stolid juryman suggested that some men
were terrified of cats. The man might have
seen a cat. I didn't think his suggestion a very
brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster
with the jury, who were obviously impatient
to get home and only too pleased at being able
to give a verdict of accident as opposed to
suicide.
"It is extraordinary to me," said the
coroner, "that the doctor who first examined
the body has not come forward. His name
and address should have been taken at the
time. It was most irregular not to do so."
I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in
regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I
determined to make a call upon Scotland
Yard at an early date.
But the next morning brought a surprise.
37
Tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it
was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to
make my duty clear, and when Mr.
Flemming heard my story he quite agreed
with me.
"Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the
inquest. You say no one else was near enough
to see what happened?"
"I had the feeling someone was coming up
behind me, but I can't be sure—and, anyway,
they wouldn't be as near as I was."
The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made
all the arrangements and took me there with
him. He seemed to fear that it would be a
great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from
him my complete composure.
The deceased had been identified as L. B.
Carton. Nothing had been found in his
pockets except a house-agent's order to view a
house on the river near Marlow. It was in the
name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The
bureau clerk from the hotel identified the
man as having arrived the day before and
booked a room under that name. He had
registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S.
Africa. He had evidently come straight off the
steamer.
36
I was the only person who had seen
anything of the affair.
"You think it was an accident?" the
coroner asked me.
"I am positive of it. Something alarmed
him, and he stepped backwards blindly
without thinking what he was doing."
"But what could have alarmed him?"
"That I don't know. But there was something.
He looked panic-stricken."
A stolid juryman suggested that some men
were terrified of cats. The man might have
seen a cat. I didn't think his suggestion a very
brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster
with the jury, who were obviously impatient
to get home and only too pleased at being able
to give a verdict of accident as opposed to
suicide.
"It is extraordinary to me," said the
coroner, "that the doctor who first examined
the body has not come forward. His name
and address should have been taken at the
time. It was most irregular not to do so."
I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in
regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I
determined to make a call upon Scotland
Yard at an early date.
But the next morning brought a surprise.
37
The Flemmings took in the Daily Budget, and
the Daily Budget was having a day after its
own heart.
EXTRAORDINARY SEQUEL TO TUBE
ACCIDENT.
WOMAN FOUND STRANGLED IN
LONELY HOUSE.
I read eagerly.
"A sensational discovery was made
yesterday at the Mill House, Marlow. The
Mill House, which is the property of Sir
Eustace Pedler, M.P., is to be let
unfurnished, and an order to view this
property was found in the pocket of the man
who was at first thought to have committed
suicide by throwing himself on the live rail at
Hyde Park Corner Tube Station. In an upper
room of the Mill House the body of a
beautiful young woman was discovered
yesterday, strangled. She is thought to be a
foreigner, but so far has not been identified.
The police are reported to have a clue. Sir
Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House,
is wintering on the Riviera."
38
4
NOBODY came forward to identify
AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit Page 3