Why Didn't They Ask Evans? by Agatha Christie
Meanwhile the young man was going on: 'Mind you, if you could show that Nicholson had been in Marchbolt on the day of the cliff tragedy that would be very different, or if we could find any definite motive linking him with Carstairs, but it seems to me you're ignoring the real suspects.' 'What real suspects?' 'The - what did you call them - Haymans?' 'Caymans.' 'That's it. Now, they are undoubtedly in it up to the hilt.
First, there's the false identification of the body. Then there's their insistence on the point of whether the poor fellow said anything before he died. And I think it's logical to assume, as you did, that the Buenos Aires offer came from, or was arranged for, by them.' 'It's a bit annoying,' said Frankie, 'to have the most strenuous efforts made to get you out of the way because you know something - and not to know yourself what the something you know is. Bother - what a mess one gets into with words.' 'Yes,' said Roger grimly, 'that was a mistake on their part. A mistake that it's going to take them all their rime to remedy.' 'Oh!' cried Frankie. 'I've just thought of something. Up to now, you see, I've been assuming that the photograph of Mrs Cayman was substituted for the one of Moira Nicholson.' 'I can assure you,' said Roger gravely, 'that I have never treasured the likeness of a Mrs Cayman against my heart. She sounds a most repulsive creature.' 'Well, she was handsome in a way,' admitted Frankie. 'A sort of bold, coarse, vampish way. But the point is this: Carstairs must have had her photograph on him as well as Mrs Nicholson's.' Roger nodded.
'And you think -' he suggested.
'I think one was love and the other was business! Carstairs was carrying about the Cayman's photograph for a reason. He wanted it identified by somebody, perhaps. Now, listen - what happens? Someone, the male Cayman perhaps, is following him and, seeing a good opportunity, steals up behind him in the mist and gives him a shove. Carstairs goes over the cliff with a startled cry. Male Cayman makes off as fast as he can; he doesn't know who may be about. We'll say that he doesn't know that Alan Carstairs is carrying about that photograph.
What happens next? The photograph is published ' 'Consternation in the Cayman menage,' said Roger helpfully.
'Exactly. What is to be done? The bold thing - grasp the nettle. Who knows Carstairs as Carstairs? Hardly anyone in this country. Down goes Mrs Cayman, weeping crocodile tears and recognizing body as that of a convenient brother. They also do a little hocus pocus of posting parcels to bolster up the walking-tour theory.' 'You know, Frankie. I think that's positively brilliant,' said Roger with admiration.
'I think it's pretty good myself,' said Frankie. 'And you're quite right. We ought to get busy on the track of the Caymans.
I can't think why we haven't done so before.' This was not quite true, since Frankie knew quite well the reason - namely that they had been on the track of Roger himself. However, she felt it would be tactless, just at this stage, to reveal the fact.
'What are we going to do about Mrs Nicholson?' she asked abruptly.
'What do you mean - do about her?' 'Well, the poor thing is terrified to death. I do think you're callous about her, Roger.' 'I'm not, really, but people who can't help themselves always irritate me.' 'Oh! but do be fair. What can she do? She's no money and nowhere to go.' Roger said unexpectedly: 'If you were in her place, Frankie, you'd find something to do.' 'Oh!' Frankie was rather taken aback.
'Yes, you would. If you really thought somebody was trying to murder you, you wouldn't just stay there tamely waiting to be murdered. You'd run away and make a living somehow, or you'd murder the other person first! You'd do something.' Frankie tried to think what she would do.
'I'd certainly do something,' she said thoughtfully.
"The truth of the matter is that you've got guts and she hasn't,' said Roger with decision.
Frankie felt complimented. Moira Nicholson was not really the type of woman she admired and she had also felt just slightly ruffled by Bobby's absorption in her. 'Bobby,' she thought to herself, 'likes them helpless.' And she remembered the curious fascination that the photograph had had for him from the start of the affair.
'Oh, well,' thought Frankie, 'at any rate, Roger's different.' Roger, it was clear, did not like them helpless. Moira, on the other hand, clearly did not think very much of Roger. She had called him weak and had scouted the possibility of his having the guts to murder anyone. He was weak, perhaps - but undeniably he had charm. She had felt it from the first moment of arriving at Merroway Court.
Roger said quietly: 'If you liked, Frankie, you could make anything you chose of a man...' Frankie felt a sudden little thrill - and at the same time an acute embarrassment. She changed the subject hastily.
'About your brother,' she said. 'Do you still think he should go to the Grange?'
CHAPTER 22 Another Victim
'No,' said Roger. 'I don't. After all, there are heaps of other places where he can be treated. The really important thing is to get Henry to agree.' 'Do you think that will be difficult?' asked Frankie.
'I'm afraid it may be. You heard him the other night. On the other hand, if we just catch him in the repentant mood, that's very different. Hullo - here comes Sylvia.' Mrs Bassington-ffrench emerged from the house and looked about her, then seeing Roger and Frankie, she walked across the grass towards them.
They could see that she was looking terribly worried and strained.
'Roger,' she began, 'I've been looking for you everywhere.' Then, as Frankie made a movement to leave them - 'No, my dear, don't go. Of what use are concealments? In any case, I think you know all there is to know. You've suspected this business for some time, haven't you?' Frankie nodded.
'While I've been blind - blind -' said Sylvia bitterly. 'Both of you saw what I never even suspected. I only wondered why Henry had changed so to all of us. It made me very unhappy, but I never suspected the reason.' She paused, then went on again with a slight change of tone.
'As soon as Dr Nicholson had told me the truth, I went straight to Henry. I've only just left him now.' She paused, swallowing a sob.
'Roger - it's going to be all right. He's agreed. He will go to the Grange and put himself in Dr Nicholson's hands tomorrow.' 'Oh! no -' The exclamation came from Roger and Frankie simultaneously. Sylvia looked at them - astonished.
Roger spoke awkwardly.
'Do you know, Sylvia, I've been thinking it over, and I don't believe the Grange would be a good plan, after all.' 'You think he can fight it by himself?' asked Sylvia doubtfully.
'No, I don't. But there are other places - places not sowell, not so near at hand. I'm convinced that staying in this district would be a mistake.' 'I'm sure of it,' said Frankie, coming to his rescue.
'Oh! I don't agree,' said Sylvia. 'I couldn't bear him to go away somewhere. And Dr Nicholson has been so kind and understanding. I shall feel happy about Henry being under his charge.' 'I thought you didn't like-Nicholson, Sylvia,' said Roger.
'I've changed my mind.' She spoke simply. 'Nobody could have been nicer or kinder than he was this afternoon. My silly prejudice against him has quite vanished.' There was a moment's silence. The position was awkward.
Neither Roger nor Sylvia knew quite what to say next.
'Poor Henry,' said Sylvia. 'He broke down. He was terribly upset at my knowing. He agreed that he must fight this awful craving for my sake and Tommy's, but he said I hadn't a conception of what it meant. I suppose I haven't, though Dr Nicholson explained very fully. It becomes a kind of obsession - people aren't responsible for their actions - so he said. Oh, Roger, it seems so awful. But Dr Nicholson was really kind. I trust him.' 'All the same, I think it would be better -' began Roger.
Sylvia turned on him.
'I don't understand you, Roger. Why have you changed your mind? Half an hour ago you were all for Henry's going to the Grange.' 'Well - I've - I've had time to think the matter over since ' Again Sylvia interrupted.
'Anyway, I've made up my mind. Henry shall go to the Grange and nowhere else.' They confronted her in silence, then Roger said: 'Do you know, I think I will ring up Nicho
'I cannot understand Roger,' said Sylvia impatiently. 'About a quarter of an hour ago he was positively urging me to arrange for Henry to go to the Grange.' Her tone held a distinct note of anger.
'All the same,' said Frankie, 'I agree with him. I'm sure I've read somewhere that people ought always to go for a cure somewhere far away from their homes.' 'I think that's just nonsense,' said Sylvia.
Frankie felt in a dilemma. Sylvia's unexpected obstinacy was making things difficult, and also she seemed suddenly to have become as violently pro-Nicholson as she formerly had been against him. It was very hard to know what arguments to use.
Frankie considered telling the whole story to Sylvia - but would Sylvia believe it? Even Roger had not been very impressed by the theory of Dr Nicholson's guilt. Sylvia, with her new-found partisanship where the doctor was concerned, would probably be even less so. She might even go and repeat the whole thing to him. It was certainly difficult.
An aeroplane passed low overhead in the gathering dusk, filling the air with its loud beat of engines. Both Sylvia and Frankie stared up at it, glad of the respite it afforded, since neither of them quite knew what to say next. It gave Frankie time to collect her thoughts, and Sylvia time to recover from her fit of sudden anger.
As the aeroplane disappeared over the trees and its roar receded into the distance, Sylvia turned abruptly to Frankie.
'It's been so awful -' she said brokenly. 'And you all seem to want to send Henry far away from me.' 'No, no,' said Frankie. 'It wasn't that at all.' She cast about for a minute.
'It was only that I thought he ought to have the best treatment. And I do think that Dr Nicholson is rather - well, rather a quack.' 'I don't believe it,' said Sylvia. 'I think he's a very clever man and just the kind of man Henry needs.' She looked defiantly at Frankie. Frankie marvelled at the hold Dr Nicholson had acquired over her in such a short time.
All her former distrust of the man seemed to have vanished completely.
At a loss what to say or do next, Frankie relapsed into silence.
Presently Roger came out again from the house. He seemed slightly breathless.
'Nicholson isn't in yet,' he said. 'I left a message.' 'I don't see why you want to see Dr Nicholson so urgently,' said Sylvia. 'You suggested this plan, and it's all arranged and Henry has consented.' 'I think I've got some say in the matter, Sylvia,' said Roger gently. 'After all, I'm Henry's brother.' 'You suggested the plan yourself,' said Sylvia obstinately.
'Yes, but I've heard a few things about Nicholson since.' 'What things? Oh! I don't believe you.' She bit her lip, turned away and plunged into the house.
Roger looked at Frankie.
'This is a bit awkward,' he said.
'Very awkward, indeed.' 'Once Sylvia has made her mind up she can be obstinate as the devil.' 'What are we going to do?' They sat down again on the garden seat and went into the matter carefully. Roger agreed with Frankie that to tell the whole story to Sylvia would be a mistake. The best plan, in his opinion, would be to tackle the doctor.
'But what are you going to say exactly?' 'I don't know that I shall say much - but I shall hint a good deal. At any rate, I agree with you about one thing - Henry mustn't go to the Grange. Even if we come right out into the open, we've got to stop that.' 'We give the whole show away if we do,' Frankie reminded him.
'I know. That's why we've got to try everything else first.
Curse Sylvia, why must she turn obstinate just at this minute?' 'It shows the power of the man,' Frankie said.
'Yes. You know, it inclines me to believe that, evidence or no evidence, you may be right about him after all - what's that?' They both sprang up.
'It sounded like a shot,' said Frankie. 'From the house.' They looked at each other, then raced towards the building.
They went in by the trench window of the drawing-room and passed through into the hall. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench was standing there, her face white as paper.
'Did you hear?' she said. 'It was a shot - from Henry's study.' She swayed and Roger put an arm round her to steady her.
Frankie went to the study door and turned the handle.
'It's locked,' she said.
'The window,' said Roger.
He deposited Sylvia, who was in a half-fainting condition, on a convenient settee and raced out again through the drawingroom, Frankie on his heels. They went round the house till they came to the study window. It was closed, but they put their went into his study, locked the door, wrote a few words on a sheet of paper - and - shot himself. Bobby, it's too ghastly. It's - it's grim.' 'I know,' said Bobby quietly.
They were both silent for a little.
'I shall have to leave today, of course,' said Frankie presently.
'Yes, I suppose you will. How is she - Mrs Bassingtonffrench, I mean?' 'She's collapsed, poor soul. I haven't seen her since we - we found the body. The shock to her must have been awful.' Bobby nodded.
'You'd better bring the car round about eleven,' continued Frankie.
Bobby did not answer. Frankie looked at him impatiently.
'What's the matter with you, Bobby? You look as though you were miles away.' 'Sorry. As a matter of fact ' 'Yes?' 'Well, I was just wondering. I suppose - well, I suppose it's all right?' 'What do you mean - all right?' 'I mean it's quite certain that he did commit suicide?' 'Oh!' said Frankie. 'I see.' She thought a minute. 'Yes,' she said, 'it was suicide all right.' 'You're quite sure? You see, Frankie, we have Moira's word for it that Nicholson wanted two people out of the way. Well, here's one of them gone.' Frankie thought again, but once more she shook her head.
'It must be suicide,' she said. 'I was in the garden with Roger when we heard the shot. We both ran straight in through the drawing-room to the hall. The study door was locked on the inside. We went round to the window. That was fastened also and Roger had to smash it. It wasn't till then that Nicholson appeared upon the scene.' Bobby reflected upon this information.
'It looks all right,' he agreed. 'But Nicholson seems to have appeared on the scene very suddenly.' 'He'd left a stick behind earlier in the afternoon and had come back for it.' Bobby was frowning with the process of thought.
'Listen, Frankie. Suppose that actually Nicholson shot Bassington-ffrench ' 'Having induced him first to write a suicide's letter of farewell?' 'I should think that would be the easiest thing in the world to fake. Any alteration in handwriting would be put down to agitation.' 'Yes, that's true. Go on with your theory.' 'Nicholson shoots Bassington-ffrench, leaves the farewell letter, and nips out locking the door - to appear again a few minutes later as though he had just arrived.' Frankie shook her head regretfully.
'It's a good idea - but it won't work. To begin with, the key was in Henry Bassington-ffrench's pocket ' 'Who found it there?' 'Well, as a matter of fact, Nicholson did.' 'There you are. What's easier for him than to pretend to find it there.' 'I was watching him - remember. I'm sure the key was in the pocket.' 'That's what one says when one watches a conjurer. You see the rabbit being put into the hat! If Nicholson is a high-class criminal, a simple little bit of sleight of hand like that would be child's play to him.' 'Well, you may be right about that, but honestly, Bobby, the whole thing's impossible. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench was actually in the house when the shot was fired. The moment she heard it she ran out into the hall. If Nicholson had fired the shot and come out through the study door she would have been bound to see him. Besides, she told us that he actually came up the drive to the front door. She saw him coming as we ran round the house and went to meet him and brought him round to the study window. No, Bobby, I hate to say it, but the man has an alibi.' 'On principle, I distrust people who have alibis,' said Bobby.
'So do I. But I don't see how you can get round this one.' 'No. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench's word ought to be good enough.' 'Yes, inde