The Complete Tommy and Tuppence by Agatha Christie
‘All the same what?’
‘Well, it’s sort of fun just to think of things like that.’
‘You mean Alexander was killed because he knew something?’ asked Tommy.
‘He knew something about who killed Mary Jordan. It was one of us…’ Tuppence’s face lit up. ‘US,’ she said with emphasis, ‘we’ll have to know just all about US. An “US” here in this house in the past. It’s a crime we’ve got to solve. Go back to the past to solve it–to where it happened and why it happened. That’s a thing we’ve never tried to do before.’
Chapter 5
Methods of Research
‘Where on earth have you been, Tuppence?’ demanded her husband when he returned to the family mansion the following day.
‘Well, last of all I’ve been in the cellar,’ said Tuppence.
‘I can see that,’ said Tommy. ‘Yes, I do see. Do you know that your hair is absolutely full of cobwebs?’
‘Well, it would be of course. The cellar is full of cobwebs. There wasn’t anything there, anyway,’ said Tuppence. ‘At least there were some bottles of bay rum.’
‘Bay rum?’ said Tommy. ‘That’s interesting.’
‘Is it?’ said Tuppence. ‘Does one drink it? It seems to me most unlikely.’
‘No,’ said Tommy, ‘I think people used to put it on their hair. I mean men, not women.’
‘I believe you’re right,’ said Tuppence. ‘I remember my uncle–yes, I had an uncle who used bay rum. A friend of his used to bring it him from America.’
‘Oh really? That seems very interesting,’ said Tommy.
‘I don’t think it is particularly interesting,’ said Tuppence. ‘It’s no help to us, anyway. I mean, you couldn’t hide anything in a bottle of bay rum.’
‘Oh, so that’s what you’ve been doing.’
‘Well, one has to start somewhere,’ said Tuppence. ‘It’s just possible if what your pal said to you was true, something could be hidden in this house, though it’s rather difficult to imagine where it could be or what it could be, because, you see, when you sell a house or die and go out of it, the house is then of course emptied, isn’t it? I mean, anyone who inherits it takes the furniture out and sells it, or if it’s left, the next person comes in and they sell it, and so anything that’s left in now would have belonged to the last tenant but one and certainly not much further back than that.’
‘Then why should somebody want to injure you or injure me or try to get us to leave this house–unless, I mean, there was something here that they didn’t want us to find?’
‘Well, that’s all your idea,’ said Tuppence. ‘It mightn’t be true at all. Anyway, it’s not been an entirely wasted day. I have found some things.’
‘Anything to do with Mary Jordan?’
‘Not particularly. The cellar, as I say, is not much good. It had a few old things to do with photography, I think. You know, a developing lamp or something like they used to use in old days, with red glass in it, and the bay rum. But there were no sort of flagstones that looked as though you could pull them up and find anything underneath. There were a few decayed trunks, some tin trunks and a couple of old suitcases, but things that just couldn’t be used to put anything in any more. They’d fall to bits if you kicked them. No. It was a wash-out.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Tommy. ‘So no satisfaction.’
‘Well, there were some things that were interesting. I said to myself, one has to say something to oneself–I think I’d better go upstairs now and take the cobwebs off before I go on talking.’
‘Well, I think perhaps you had,’ said Tommy. ‘I shall like looking at you better when you’ve done that.’
‘If you want to get the proper Darby and Joan feeling,’ said Tuppence, ‘you must always look at me and consider that your wife, no matter what her age, still looks lovely to you.’
‘Tuppence dearest,’ said Tommy, ‘you look excessively lovely to me. And there is a kind of roly-poly of a cobweb hanging down over your left ear which is most attractive. Rather like the curl that the Empress Eugenie is sometimes represented as having in pictures. You know, running along the corner of her neck. Yours seems to have got a spider in it, too.’
‘Oh,’ said Tuppence, ‘I don’t like that.’
She brushed the web away with her hand. She duly went upstairs and returned to Tommy later. A glass was awaiting her. She looked at it doubtfully.
‘You aren’t trying to make me drink bay rum, are you?’
‘No. I don’t think I particularly want to drink bay rum myself.’
‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘if I may get on with what I was saying–’
‘I should like you to,’ said Tommy. ‘You’ll do it anyway, but I would like to feel it was because I urged you to do so.’
‘Well, I said to myself, “Now if I was going to hide anything in this house that I didn’t want anyone else to find, what sort of place would I choose?”’
‘Yes,’ said Tommy, ‘very logical.’
‘And so I thought, what places are there where one can hide things? Well, one of them of course is Mathilde’s stomach.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Tommy.
‘Mathilde’s stomach. The rocking-horse. I told you about the rocking-horse. It’s an American rocking-horse.’
‘A lot of things seem to have come from America,’ said Tommy. ‘The bay rum too, you said.’
‘Well, anyway, the rocking-horse did have a hole in its stomach because old Isaac told me about it; it had a hole in its stomach and a lot of sort of queer old paper stuff came out of it. Nothing interesting. But anyway, that’s the sort of place where anyone might have hidden anything, isn’t it?’
‘Quite possibly.’
‘And Truelove, of course. I examined Truelove again. You know it’s got a sort of rather old decayed mackintosh seat but there was nothing there. And of course there were no personal things belonging to anyone. So I thought again. Well, after all, there’s still the bookcase and books. People hide things in books. And we haven’t quite finished doing the book-room upstairs, have we?’
‘I thought we had,’ said Tommy hopefully.
‘Not really. There was the bottom shelf still.’
‘That doesn’t really need doing. I mean, one hasn’t got to get up a ladder and take things down.’
‘No. So I went up there and sat down on the floor and looked through the bottom shelf. Most of it was sermons. Sermons of somebody in old times written by a Methodist minister, I think. Anyway, they weren’t interesting, there was nothing in them. So I pulled all those books out on the floor. And then I did make a discovery. Underneath, some time or other, somebody had made a sort of gaping hole, and pushed all sorts of things in it, books all torn to pieces more or less. There was one rather big one. It had a brown paper cover on it and I just pulled it out to see. After all, one never knows, does one? And what do you think it was?’
‘I’ve no idea. First edition of Robinson Crusoe or something valuable like that?’
‘No. It was a birthday book.’
‘A birthday book. What’s that?’
‘Well, they used to have them. Goes back a long time. Back to the Parkinsons, I think. Probably before that. Anyway, it was rather battered and torn. Not worth keeping, and I don’t suppose anyone would have bothered about it. But it does date back and one might find something in it, I thought.’
‘I see. You mean the sort of thing people might have slipped something into.’
‘Yes. But nobody has done that, of course. Nothing so simple. But I’m still going through it quite carefully. I haven’t gone through it properly yet. You see, it might have interesting names in it and one might find out something.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Tommy, sounding sceptical.
‘Well, that’s one thing. That’s the only thing in the book line that I came across. There was nothing else on the bottom shelf. The other thing to look through, of course, is the cupboards.’
?
‘No, Tommy, you’re not looking at things straight. I mean, all the furniture in the house now is ours. We moved into an empty house and brought our furniture with us. The only thing we found here from really old times is all that mess out in the place called KK, old decayed toys and garden seats. I mean, there’s no proper antique furniture left in the house. Whoever it was lived here last took it away or else sent it to be sold. There’s been lots of people, I expect, since the Parkinsons, so there wouldn’t be anything left of theirs here. But, I did find something. I don’t know, it may mean something helpful.’
‘What was that?’
‘China menu cards.’
‘China menu cards?’
‘Yes. In that old cupboard we haven’t been able to get into. The one off the larder. You know, they’d lost the key. Well, I found the key in an old box. Out in KK, as a matter of fact. I put some oil on it and I managed to get the cupboard door open. And, well, there was nothing in it. It was just a dirty cupboard with a few broken bits of china left in it. I should think from the last people who were here. But shoved up on the top shelf there was a little heap of the Victorian china menus people used to have at parties. Fascinating, the things they ate–really the most delicious meals. I’ll read you some after we’ve had dinner. It was fascinating. You know, two soups, clear and thick, and on top of that there were two kinds of fish and then there were two entrées, I think, and then you had a salad or something like that. And then after that you had the joint and after that–I’m not quite sure what came next. I think a sorbet–that’s ice cream, isn’t it? And actually after that–lobster salad! Can you believe it?’
‘Hush, Tuppence,’ said Tommy, ‘I don’t really think I can stand any more.’
‘Well, anyway I thought it might be interesting. It dates back, you know. It dates back, I should think, quite a long time.’
‘And what do you hope to get from all these discoveries?’
‘Well, the only thing with possibilities is the birthday book. In it I see there is a mention of somebody called Winifred Morrison.’
‘Well?’
‘Well, Winifred Morrison, I gather, was the maiden name of old Mrs Griffin. That’s the one I went to tea with the other day. She’s one of the oldest inhabitants, you know, and she remembers or knows about a lot of things that happened before her time. Well, I think she might remember or have heard of some of the other names in the birthday book. We might get something from that.’
‘We might,’ said Tommy still sounding doubtful. ‘I still think–’
‘Well, what do you still think?’ said Tuppence.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Tommy. ‘Let’s go to bed and sleep. Don’t you think we’d better give this business up altogether? Why should we want to know who killed Mary Jordan?’
‘Don’t you want to?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Tommy. ‘At least–oh I give in. You’ve got me involved now, I admit.’
‘Haven’t you found out anything?’ asked Tuppence.
‘I hadn’t time today. But I’ve got a few more sources of information. I put that woman I told you about–you know, the one who’s quite clever about research–I put her on to a few things.’
‘Oh well,’ said Tuppence, ‘we’ll still hope for the best. It’s all nonsense, but perhaps it is rather fun.’
‘Only I’m not so sure it’s going to be as much fun as you think,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh well. No matter,’ said Tuppence, ‘we’ll have done our best.’
‘Well, don’t go on doing your best all by yourself,’ said Tommy. ‘That’s exactly what worries me so much–when I’m away from you.’
Chapter 6
Mr Robinson
‘I wonder what Tuppence is doing now,’ said Tommy, sighing.
‘Excuse me, I didn’t quite hear what you said.’
Tommy turned his head to look at Miss Collodon more closely. Miss Collodon was thin, emaciated, had grey hair which was slowly passing through the stage of recovering from a peroxide rinse designated to make her look younger (which it had not done). She was now trying various shades of artistic grey, cloudy smoke, steel blue and other interesting shades suitable for a lady between sixty and sixty-five, devoted to the pursuit of research. Her face represented a kind of ascetic superiority and a supreme confidence in her own achievements.
‘Oh, it was nothing really, Miss Collodon,’ said Tommy. ‘Just–just something I was considering, you know. Just thinking of.’
And what is it, I wonder, thought Thomas, being careful this time not to utter the words aloud, that she can be doing today. Something silly, I bet. Half killing herself in that extraordinary, obsolete child’s toy that’ll come to pieces carrying her down the hill, and she’ll probably end up with a broken something or other. Hips, it seems to be nowadays, though I don’t see why hips are more vulnerable than anything else. Tuppence, he thought, would at this moment be doing something silly or foolish or, if not that, she would be doing something which might not be silly or foolish but would be highly dangerous. Yes, dangerous. It was always difficult keeping Tuppence out of danger. His mind roved vaguely over various incidents in the past. Words of a quotation came into his mind, and he spoke them aloud:
‘Postern of Fate…
Pass not beneath, O Caravan, or pass not singing.
Have you heard
That silence where the birds are dead, yet something
pipeth like a bird?’
Miss Collodon responded immediately, giving Tommy quite a shock of surprise.
‘Flecker,’ she said. ‘Flecker. It goes on:
“Death’s Caravan…Disaster’s Cavern, Fort of Fear.”’
Tommy stared at her, then realized that Miss Collodon had thought he was bringing her a poetic problem to be researched, full information on where a certain quotation came from and who the poet had been who had uttered it. The trouble with Miss Collodon was that her research covered such a broad field.
‘I was just wondering about my wife,’ said Tommy apologetically.
‘Oh,’ said Miss Collodon.
She looked at Tommy with a rather new expression in her eye. Marital trouble in the home, she was deducing. She would presently probably offer him the address of a marriage advice bureau wherein he might seek adjustment in his matrimonial affairs and troubles.
Tommy said hurriedly, ‘Have you had any success with that enquiry I spoke to you about the day before yesterday?’
‘Oh yes. Not very much trouble in that. Somerset House is very useful, you know, in all those things. I don’t think, you know, that there is likely to be anything particular that you want there, but I’ve got the names and addresses of certain births, marriages and deaths.’
‘What, are they all Mary Jordans?’
‘Jordan, yes. A Mary. A Maria and a Polly Jordan. Also a Mollie Jordan. I don’t know if any of them are likely to be what you want. Can I pass this to you?’
She handed him a small typewritten sheet.
‘Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.’
‘There are several addresses, too. The ones you asked me for. I have not been able to find out the address of Major Dalrymple. People change their addresses constantly nowadays. However, I think another two days ought to get that information all right. This is Dr Heseltine’s address. He is at present living at Surbiton.’
‘Thanks very much,’ said Tommy. ‘I might start on him, anyway.’
‘Any more queries?’
‘Yes. I’ve got a list here of about six. Some of them may not be in your line.’
‘Oh well,’ said Miss Collodon, with complete assurance, ‘I have to make things my line, you know. You can easily find out first just where you can find out, if that isn’t a rather foolish way of speech. But it does explain things, you know. I remember–oh, quite a long time ago, when I was first doing this work, I found how usef
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Tommy.
‘And helping alcoholics. A lot of societies there are who specialize in that. Some of them are much better than others. I have quite a list–comprehensive–and some most reliable–’
‘I’ll remember it,’ Tommy said, ‘if I find myself shaping that way any time. It depends how far I get today.’
‘Oh, I’m sure, Mr Beresford, I don’t see any signs of alcoholic difficulties in you.’
‘No red nose?’ said Tommy.
‘It’s worse with women,’ said Miss Collodon. ‘More difficult, you know, to get them off it, as you might say. Men do relapse, but not so notably. But really, some women, they seem quite all right, quite happy drinking lemonade in large quantities and all that, and then some evening, in the middle of a party–well, it’s all there again.’
In turn, she looked at her watch.
‘Oh dear, I must go on to my next appointment. I have to get to Upper Grosvenor Street.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Tommy, ‘for all you’ve done.’
He opened the door politely, helped Miss Collodon on with her coat, went back into the room and said,
‘I must remember to tell Tuppence this evening that our researches so far have led me to impress a research agent with the idea that my wife drinks and our marriage is breaking up because of it. Oh dear, what next!’
II
What next was an appointment in an inexpensive restaurant in the neighbourhood of Tottenham Court Road.