Why Didn't They Ask Evans

by Agatha Christie

  '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 bottle, 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.

  It may interest you to know that Henry didn't commit suicide.

  I killed him! When I was talking to you in the garden I saw there was no time to waste - and I went straight in and saw to things.

  The aeroplane that came over gave me my chance. I went into the study, sat down by Henry who was writing and said: 'Look here, old man -' and shot him! The noise of the plane drowned the sound. Then I wrote a nice affecting letter, wiped off my fingerprints from the revolver, pressed Henry's hand round it and let it drop to the floor. I put the key of the study in Henry's pocket and went out, locking the door from the outside with the diningroom key which fits the lock.

  I won't go into details of the neat little squib arrangement in the chimney which was timed to go off four minutes later.

  Everything went beautifully. You and I were in the garden together and heard the 'shot'. A perfect suicide! The only person who laid himself open to suspicion was poor old Nicholson. The ass came back for a stick or something!

  Of course Bobby's knight errantry was a bit difficult for Moira.

  So she just went off to the cottage. We fancied that Nicholson's explanation of his wife's absence would be sure to make you suspicious.

  Where Moira really showed her mettle was at the cottage. She realized from the noise upstairs that I'd been knocked out, and she quickly injected a large dose of morphia into herself and lay down on the bed. After you all went down to telephone she nipped up to the attic and cut me free. Then the morphia took effect and by the time the doctor arrived she was genuinely off in a hypnotic sleep.

  But all the same her nerve was going. She was afraid you'd get on to Evans and get the hang of how Savage's will and suicide was worked. Also she was afraid that Carstairs had written to Evans before he came to Marchbolt. She pretended to go up to a London nursing home. Instead, she hurried down to Marchbolt - and met you on the doorstep! Then her one idea was to get you both out of the way. Her methods were crude to the last degree, but I believe she 'd have got away with it. I doubt if the waitress would have been able to remember much about what the woman who came in with you was like. Moira would have got away back to London and lain low in a nursing home. With you and Bobby out of the way the whole thing would have died down.

  But you spotted her - and she lost her head. And then at the trial she dragged me into it!

  Perhaps I was getting a little tired of her.

  But I had no idea that she knew it.

  You see, she had got the money - my money! Once I had married her I might have got tired of her. I like variety.

  So here I am starting life again.

  And all owing to you and that extremely objectionable young man Bobby Jones.

  But I've no doubt I shall make good!

  Or ought it to be bad, not good?

  I haven't reformed yet.

  But if at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.

  Goodbye, my dear - or, perhaps au revoir. One never knows, does one?

  Your affectionate enemy, the bold, bad villain of the pi
ece, Roger Bassingtonffrench.

  CHAPTER 35 News from the Vicarage

  Bobby handed back the letter and with a sigh Frankie took it.

  'He's really a very remarkable person,' she said.

  'You always had a fancy for him,' said Bobby coldly.

  'He had charm,' said Frankie. 'So had Moira,' she added.

  Bobby blushed.

  'It was very queer that all the time the clue to the whole thing should have been in the Vicarage,' he said. 'You do know, don't you, Frankie, that Carstairs had actually written to Evans - to Mrs Roberts, that is?' Frankie nodded.

  'Telling her that he was coming to see her and that he wanted information about Mrs Templeton whom he had reason to believe was a dangerous international crook wanted by the police.

  'And then when he's pushed over the cliff she doesn't put two and two together,' said Bobby bitterly.

  'That's because the man who went over the cliff was Pritchard,' said Frankie. 'That identification was a very clever bit of work. If a man called Pritchard is pushed over, how could it be a man called Carstairs? That's how the ordinary mind works.' 'The funny thing is that she recognized Cayman,' went on Bobby. 'At least she caught a glimpse of him when Roberts was letting him in and asked him who it was. And he said it was Mr Cayman and she said, "Funny, he's the dead spit of a gentleman I used to be in service with." ' 'Can you beat it?' said Frankie.

  'Even Bassington-ffrench gave himself away once or twice,' she continued. 'But like an idiot I never spotted it.' 'Did he?' 'Yes, when Sylvia said that the picture in the paper was very like Carstairs he said there wasn't much likeness really showing he'd seen the dead man. And then later he said to me that he never saw the dead man's face.' 'How on earth did you spot Moira, Frankie?' 'I think it was the description of Mrs Templeton,' said Frankie dreamily. 'Everyone said she was "such a nice lady".

  Now that didn't seem to fit with the Cayman woman. No servant would describe her a "nice lady". And then we got to the Vicarage and Moira was there and it suddenly came to me - Suppose Moira was Mrs Templeton?' 'Very bright of you.' 'I'm very sorry for Sylvia,' said Frankie. 'With Moira dragging Roger into it, it's been a terrible lot of publicity for her. But Dr Nicholson has stuck by her and I shouldn't be at all surprised if they ended by making a match of it.' 'Everything seems to have ended very fortunately,' said Bobby. 'Badger's doing well at the garage - thanks to your father, and also thanks to your father, I've got this perfectly marvellous job.' 'Is it a marvellous job?' 'Managing a coffee estate out in Kenya on a whacking big screw? I should think so. It's just the sort of thing I used to dream about.' He paused.