Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  "For instance, who benefited by your aunt's death?"

  "That's simple. We all benefit equally. She left her money to be divided in equal shares among the four of us."

  "And what was the value of her estate?"

  "The lawyer told us it will come to about eighty thousand pounds after the death duties are paid."

  Sir Edward opened his eyes in some slight surprise.

  "That is quite a considerable sum. You knew, I suppose, the total of your aunt's fortune?"

  Magdalen shook her head.

  "No - it came quite as a surprise to us. Aunt Lily was always terribly careful about money. She kept just the one servant and always talked a lot about economy."

  Sir Edward nodded thoughtfully. Magdalen leaned forward a little in her chair.

  "You will help me - you will?"

  Her words came to Sir Edward as an unpleasant shock just at the moment when he was becoming interested in her story for its own sake.

  "My dear young lady - what can I possibly do? If you want good legal advice, I can give you the name -"

  She interrupted him. "Oh! I don't want that sort of thing! I want you to help me personally - as a friend."

  "That's very charming of you, but -"

  "I want you to come to our house. I want you to ask questions. I want you to see and judge for yourself. "

  "But my dear young -"

  "Remember, you promised. Anywhere - any time - you said, if I wanted help..."

  Her eyes, pleading yet confident, looked into his. He felt ashamed and strangely touched. That terrific sincerity of hers, that absolute belief in an idle promise, ten years old, as a sacred binding thing.

  How many men had not said those self-same words - a clichû almost! - and how few of them had ever been called upon to make good.

  He said rather weakly: "I'm sure there are many people who would advise you better than I could."

  "I've got lots of friends - naturally." (He was amused by the naive self-assurance of that.) "But, you see, none of them are clever. Not like you. You're used to questioning people. And with all your experience you must know."

  "Know what?"

  "Whether they're innocent or guilty."

  He smiled rather grimly to himself. He flattered himself that, on the whole, he usually had known! Though, on many occasions, his private opinion had not been that of the jury.

  Magdalen pushed back her hat from her forehead with a nervous gesture, looked round the room, and said: "How quiet it is here.

  Don't you sometimes long for some noise?"

  The cul-de-sac! All unwittingly her words, spoken at random, touched him on the raw. A cul-de-sac. Yes, but there was always a way out - the way you had come - the way back into the world...

  Something impetuous and youthful stirred in him. Her simple trust appealed to the best side of his nature - and the condition of her problem appealed to something else - the innate criminologist in him. He wanted to see these people of whom she spoke. He wanted to form his own judgment.

  He said: "If you are really convinced I can be of any use... Mind, I guarantee nothing."

  He expected her to be overwhelmed with delight, but she took it very calmly.

  "I knew you would do it. I've always thought of you as a real friend.

  Will you come back with me now?"

  "No. I think if I pay you a visit tomorrow it will be more satisfactory.

  Will you give me the name and address of Miss Crabtree's lawyer?

  I may want to ask him a few questions."

  She wrote it down and handed it to him. Then she got up and said rather shyly: "I - I'm really most awfully grateful. Good-bye."

  "And your own address?"

  "How stupid of me. 18 Palatine Walk, Chelsea."

  It was three o'clock on the following afternoon when Sir Edward Palliser approached the 18 Palatine Walk with a sober, measured tread. In the interval he had found out several things. He had paid a visit that morning to Scotland Yard, where the Assistant Commissioner was an old friend of his, and he had also had an interview with the late Miss Crabtree's lawyer. As a result he had a clearer vision of the circumstances. Miss Crabtree's arrangements in regard to money had been somewhat peculiar. She never made use of a check book. Instead she was in the habit of writing to her lawyer and asking him to have a certain sum in five-pound notes waiting for her. It was nearly always the same sum. Three hundred pounds four times a year. She came to fetch it herself in a fourwheeler, which she regarded as the only safe means of conveyance. At other times she never left the house.

  At Scotland Yard Sir Edward learned that the question of finance had been gone into very carefully. Miss Crabtree had been almost due for her next instalment of money. Presumably the previous three hundred had been spent - or almost spent. But this was exactly the point that had not been easy to ascertain. By checking the household expenditure, it was soon evident that Miss Crabtree's expenditure per quarter fell a good deal short of the three hundred. On the other hand, she was in the habit of sending five-pound notes to needy friends and relatives. Whether there had been much or little money in the house at the time of her death was a debatable point. None had been found.

  It was this particular point which Sir Edward was revolving in his mind as he approached Palatine Walk.

  The door of the house (which was a non-basement one) was opened to him by a small elderly woman with an alert gaze. He was shown into a big double room on the left of the small hallway and there Magdalen came to him. More clearly than before, he saw the traces of nervous strain in her face.

  "You told me to ask questions, and I have come to do so," said Sir Edward, smiling as he shook hands. "First of all, I want to know who last saw your aunt and exactly what time that was?"

  "It was after tea - five o'clock. Martha was the last person with her.

  She had been paying the books that afternoon, and brought Aunt Lily the change and the accounts."

  "You trust Martha?"

  "Oh, absolutely. She was with Aunt Lily for - oh, thirty years, I suppose. She's honest as the day."

  Sir Edward nodded.

  "Another question. Why did your cousin, Mrs Crabtree, take a headache powder?"

  "Well, because she had a headache."

  "Naturally, but was there any particular reason why she should have a headache?"

  "Well, yes, in a way. There was rather a scene at lunch. Emily is very excitable and highly strung. She and Aunt Lily used to have rows sometimes."

  "And they had one at lunch?"

  "Yes. Aunt Lily was rather trying about little things. It all started out of nothing - and then they were at it hammer and tongs - with Emily saying all sorts of things she couldn't possibly have meant that she'd leave the house and never come back - that she was grudged every mouthful she ate - oh, all sorts of silly things. And Aunt Lily said the sooner she and her husband packed their boxes and went the better. But it all meant nothing, really."

  "Because Mr and Mrs Crabtree couldn't afford to pack up and go?"

  "Oh, not only that. William was fond of Aunt Emily. He really was."

  "It wasn't a day of quarrels, by any chance?"

  Magdalen's color heightened.

  "You mean me? The fuss about my wanting to be a manikin?"

  "Your aunt wouldn't agree?"

  "No."

  "Why did you want to be a manikin, Miss Magdalen? Does the life strike you as a very attractive one?"

  "No, but anything would be better than going on living here."

  "Yes, then. But now you will have a comfortable income, won't you?"

  "Oh, yes, it's quite different now."

  She made the admission with the utmost simplicity.

  He smiled but pursued the subject no further. Instead he said:

  "And your brother? Did he have a quarrel, too?"

  "Matthew? Oh, no."

  "Then no one can say he had a motive for wishing his aunt out of the way?"

  He was quick to seize o
n the momentary dismay that showed in her face.

  "I forgot," he said casually. "He owed a good deal of money, didn't he?"

  "Yes; poor old Matthew."

  "Still, that will be all right now."

  "Yes -" She sighed. "It is a relief."

  And still she saw nothing! He changed the subject hastily.

  "Your cousins and your brother are at home?"

  "Yes; I told them you were coming. They are all so anxious to help.

  Oh, Sir Edward - I feel, somehow, that you are going to find out that everything is all right - that none of us had anything to do with it that, after all, it was an outsider."

  "I can't do miracles. I may be able to find out the truth, but I can't make the truth be what you want it to be."

  "Can't you? I feel that you could do anything - anything."

  She left the room. He thought, disturbed, "What did she mean by that? Does she want me to suggest a line of defense? For whom?"

  His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a man about fifty years of age. He had a natu rally powerful frame, but stooped slightly. His clothes were untidy and his hair carelessly brushed.

  He looked good-natured but vague.

  "Sir Edward Palliser? Oh, how do you do? Magdalen sent me along, It's very good of you, I'm sure, to wish to help us, though I don't think anybody will ever be really discovered. I mean, they won't catch the fellow.

  "You think it was a burglar, then - someone from outside?"

  "Well, it must have been. It couldn't be one of the family. These fellows are very clever nowadays, they climb like cats and they get in and out as they like."

  "Where were you, Mr Crabtree, when the tragedy occurred?"

  "I was busy with my stamps - in my little sitting-room upstairs."

  "You didn't hear anything?"

  "No - but then I never do hear anything when I'm absorbed. Very foolish of me, but there it is."

  "Is the sitting-room you refer to over this room?"

  "No, it's at the back."

  Again the door opened. A small, fair woman entered. Her hands were twitching nervously. She looked fretful and excited.

  "William, why didn't you wait for me? I said 'wait.'"

  "Sorry, my dear, I forgot. Sir Edward Palliser - my wife."

  "How do you do, Mrs Crabtree? I hope you don't mind my coming here to ask a few questions. I know how anxious you, must all be to have things cleared up."

  "Naturally. But I can't tell you anything - can I, William? I was asleep - on my bed - I only woke up when Martha screamed."

  Her hands continued to twitch.

  "Where is your room, Mrs Crabtree?"

  "It's over this. But I didn't hear anything - how could I? I was asleep."

  He could get nothing out of her but that. She knew nothing - she had heard nothing - she had been asleep. She reiterated it with the obstinacy of a frightened woman. Yet Sir Edward knew very well that it might easily be - probably was - the bare truth.

  He excused himself at last - said he would like to put a few questions to Martha. William Crabtree volunteered to take him to the kitchen. In the hall Sir Edward nearly collided with a tall, dark young man who was striding towards the front door.

  "Mr Matthew Vaughan?"

  "Yes - but, look here, I can't wait. I've got an appointment."

  "Matthew!" It was his sister's voice from the stairs. "Oh, Matthew, you promised -"

  "I know, sis. But I can't. Got to meet a fellow. And, anyway, what's the good of talking about the damned thing over and over again.

  We have enough of that with the police. I'm fed up with the whole show."

  The front door banged. Mr Matthew Vaughan had made his exit.

  Sir Edward was introduced into the kitchen. Martha was ironing.

  She paused, iron in hand. Sir Edward shut the door behind him.

  "Miss Vaughan has asked me to help her," he said. "I hope you won't object to my asking you a few questions."

  She looked at him, then shook her head.

  "None of them did it, sir. I know what you're thinking, but it isn't so.

  As nice a set of ladies and gentlemen as you could wish to see."

  "I've no doubt of it. But their niceness isn't what we call evidence, you know."

  "Perhaps not. sir. The law's a funny thing. But there is evidence as you call it. sir. None of them could have done it without my knowing."

  "But surely -"

  "I know what I'm talking about, sir. There, listen to that -"

  "That" was a creaking sound above their heads.

  "The stairs, sir. Every time anyone goes up or down, the stairs creak something awful. It doesn't matter how quiet you go. Mrs Crabtree, she was lying on her bed, and Mr Crabtree was fiddling about with them wretched stamps of his, and Miss Magdalen she was up above, working her sewing machine, and if anyone of those three had come down the stairs I should have known it. And they didn't!"

  She spoke with a positive assurance which impressed the barrister. He thought: "A good witness. She'd carry weight."

  "You mightn't have noticed."

  "Yes, I would. I'd have noticed without noticing, so to speak. Like you notice when a door shuts and somebody goes out."

  Sir Edward shifted his ground.

  "That is three of them accounted for, but there is a fourth. Was Mr Matthew Vaughan upstairs also?"

  "No, but he was in the little room downstairs. Next door. And he was typewriting. You can hear it plain in here. His machine never stopped for a moment. Not for a moment, sir. I can swear to it. A nasty, irritating tap-tapping noise it is, too."

  Sir Edward paused a minute.

  "It was you who found her, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, sir, it was. Lying there with blood on her poor hair. And no one hearing a sound on account of the tap-tapping of Mr Matthew's typewriter."

  "I understand you are positive that no one came to the house?"

  "How could they, sir, without my knowing? The bell rings in here.

  And there's only the one door."

  He looked at her straight in the face.

  "You were attached to Miss Crabtree?"

  A warm glow - genuine - unmistakable - came into her face.

  "Yes, indeed, I was, sir. But for Miss Crabtree - well, I'm getting on and I don't mind speaking of it now. I got into trouble, sir, when I was a girl, and Miss Crabtree stood by me - took me back into her service, she did. when it was all over. I'd have died for her - I would indeed."

  Sir Edward knew sincerity when he heard it. Martha was sincere.

  "As far as you know, no one came to the door -?"

  "No one could have come."

  "I said as far as you know. But if Miss Crabtree had been expecting someone - if she opened the door to that someone herself..."

  "Oh!" Martha seemed taken back.

  "That's possible, I suppose?" Sir Edward urged.

  "It's possible - yes - but it isn't very likely. I mean..."

  She was clearly taken aback. She couldn't deny and yet she wanted to do so. Why? Because she knew that the truth lay elsewhere. Was that it? The four people in the house - one of them guilty? Did Martha want to shield that guilty party? Had the stairs creaked? Had someone come stealthily down and did Martha know who that someone was?

  She herself was honest - Sir Edward was convinced of that.

  He pressed his point, watching her.

  "Miss Crabtree might have done that, I suppose? The window of that room faces the street. She might have seen whoever it was she was waiting for from the window and gone out into the hall and let him - or her - in. She might even have wished that no one should see the person."

  Martha looked troubled. She said at last reluctantly:

  "Yes, you may be right, sir. I never thought of that. That she was expecting a gentleman - yes, it well might be."

  It was as though she began to perceive advantages in the idea.

  "You were the last person to see her, were you not?"

&
nbsp; "Yes, sir. After I'd cleared away the tea. I took the receipted books to her and the change from the money she'd given me."

  "Had she given the money to you in five-pound notes?"

  "A five-pound note, sir," said Martha in a shocked voice. "The books never came up as high as five pounds. I'm very careful."

  "Where did she keep her money?"

  "I don't rightly know, sir. I should say that she carried it about with her - in her black velvet bag. But of course she may have kept it in one of the drawers in her bedroom that were locked. She was very fond of locking up things, though prone to lose her keys."

  Sir Edward nodded. "You don't know how much money she had - in five-pound notes, I mean?"

  "No, sir, I couldn't say what the exact amount was."

  "And she said nothing to you that could lead you to believe that she was expecting anybody?"

  "No, sir."

  "You're quite sure? What exactly did she say?"

  "Well," Martha considered, "she said the butcher was nothing more than a rogue and a cheat, and she said I'd had in a quarter of a pound of tea more than I ought, and she said Mrs Crabtree was full of nonsense for not liking to eat margarine, and she didn't like one of the sixpences I'd brought her back - one of the new ones with oak leaves on it - she said it was bad, and I had a lot of trouble to convince her. And she said - oh, that the fishmonger had sent haddocks instead of whitings, and had I told him about it, and I said I had - and, really, I think that's all, sir."

  Martha's speech had made the deceased lady loom clear to Sir Edward as a detailed description would never have done. He said casually: "Rather a difficult mistress to please, eh?"

  "A bit fussy, but there, poor dear, she didn't often get out, and staying cooped up she had to leave something to amuse herself like. She was pernickety but kindhearted - never a beggar sent away from the door without something. Fussy she may have been, but a real charitable lady."

  "I am glad, Martha, that she leaves one person to regret her."

  The old servant caught her breath.

  "You mean - oh, but they were all fond of her - really - underneath.

  They all had words with her now and again, but it didn't mean anything."

  Sir Edward lifted his head. There was a crack above.

  "That's Miss Magdalen coming down."