Agatha Christie Read Free Page B

hardly think it matters.’
    She looked at him in perplexity with a shade of something that might have been alarm. Then she flung back her head and went imperiously out of the room. Mr Satterthwaite hastened after her. She might, he felt, collapse at any minute. But she was already halfway up the staircase, displaying no sign of her earlier weakness. The scared-looking maid was standing at the foot of the stairway, and Mr Satterthwaite spoke to her authoritatively.
    â€˜Look after your mistress,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ The girl prepared to ascend after the blue-robed figure. ‘Oh, please, sir, they don’t suspect him, do they?’
    â€˜Suspect whom?’
    â€˜Jennings, sir. Oh! Indeed, sir, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
    â€˜Jennings? No, of course not. Go and look after your mistress.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    The girl ran quickly up the staircase. Mr Satterthwaite returned to the room he had just vacated.
    Colonel Melrose was saying heavily, ‘Well, I’m jiggered. There’s more in this than meets the eye. It – it’s like those dashed silly things heroines do in many novels.’
    â€˜It’s unreal,’ agreed Mr Satterthwaite. ‘It’s like something on the stage.’
    Mr Quin nodded. ‘Yes, you admire the drama, do you not? You are a man who appreciates good acting when you see it.’
    Mr Satterthwaite looked hard at him.
    In the silence that followed a far-off sound came to their ears.
    â€˜Sounds like a shot,’ said Colonel Melrose. ‘One of the keepers, I daresay. That’s probably what she heard. Perhaps she went down to see. She wouldn’t go close or examine the body. She’d leap at once to the conclusion –’
    â€˜Mr Delangua, sir.’ It was the old butler who spoke, standing apologetically in the doorway.
    â€˜Eh?’ said Melrose. ‘What’s that?’
    â€˜Mr Delangua is here, sir, and would like to speak to you if he may.’
    Colonel Melrose leaned back in his chair. ‘Show him in,’ he said grimly.
    A moment later Paul Delangua stood in the doorway. As Colonel Melrose had hinted, there was something un-English about him – the easy grace of his movements, the dark, handsome face, the eyes set a little too near together. There hung about him the air of the Renaissance. He and Laura Dwighton suggested the same atmosphere.
    â€˜Good evening, gentlemen,’ said Delangua. He made a little theatrical bow.
    â€˜I don’t know what your business may be, Mr Delangua,’ said Colonel Melrose sharply, ‘but if it is nothing to do with the matter at hand –’
    Delangua interrupted him with a laugh. ‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘it has everything to do with it.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜I mean,’ said Delangua quietly, ‘that I have come to give myself up for the murder of Sir James Dwighton.’
    â€˜You know what you are saying?’ said Melrose gravely.
    â€˜Perfectly.’
    The young man’s eyes were riveted to the table.
    â€˜I don’t understand –’
    â€˜Why I give myself up? Call it remorse – call it anything you please. I stabbed him, right enough – you may be quite sure of that.’ He nodded toward the table. ‘You’ve got the weapon there, I see. A very handy little tool. Lady Dwighton unfortunately left it lying around in a book, and I happened to snatch it up.’
    â€˜One minute,’ said Colonel Melrose. ‘Am I to understand that you admit stabbing Sir James with this?’ He held the dagger aloft.
    â€˜Quite right. I stole in through the window, you know. He had his back to me. It was quite easy. I left the same way.’
    â€˜Through the window?’
    â€˜Through the window, of course.’
    â€˜And what time was this?’
    Delangua hesitated. ‘Let me see – I was talking to the keeper fellow – that