A Murder is Announced by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

of the house was locked at 5:30, I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in through the front door. Miss Blacklog states that that door isn't usually locked until the house is shut up for the night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front door was locked all the afternoon - but she'd say anything. Very temperamental you'll find her. Mittel-Europa refugee of some kind.”
    “Difficult, is she?”
    “Sir!” said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling. Craddock smiled.
    Fletcher resumed his report.
    “Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We haven't spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was just the one circuit went. Drawing-room and hall. Of course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn't all be on one fuse - but this is an old-fashioned installation and wiring. Don't see how he could have tampered with the fuse-box because it's out by the scullery and he'd have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would have seen him.”
    “Unless she was in it with him?”
    “That's very possible. Both foreigners - and I wouldn't trust her a yard - not a yard.”
    Craddock noticed two enormous frightened black eyes peering out of a window by the front door. The face, flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.
    “That her there?”
    “That's right, sir.”
    The face disappeared.
    Craddock rang the front-door bell.
    After a long wait the door was opened by a good-looking young woman with chestnut hair and a bored expression.
    “Detective-Inspector Craddock,” said Craddock.
    The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very attractive hazel eyes and said: “Come in. Miss Blacklog is expecting you.”
    The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and seemed almost incredibly full of doors.
    The young woman threw open a door on the left, and said: “Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn't go to the door. She's shut herself up in the kitchen and she's making the most marvellous moaning noises. I shouldn't think we'd get any lunch.”
    She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock: “She doesn't like the police,” and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.
    Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.
    He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty. Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no make-up and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned cameos - a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.
    Close beside her, with an eager round face and untidy hair escaping from a hair net, was a woman of about the same age whom Craddock had no difficulty in recognising as the 'Dora Bunner - companion' of Constable Legg's notes - to which the latter had added an off-the-record commentary of “Scatty!”
    Miss Blacklog spoke in a pleasant well-bred voice.
    “Good morning, Inspector Craddock. This is my friend, Miss Bunner, who helps me run the house. Won't you sit down? You won't smoke, I suppose?”
    “Not on duty, I'm afraid, Miss Blacklog.”
    “What a shame!”
    Craddock's eyes took in the room with a quick, practised glance. Typical Victorian double drawing-room. Two long windows in this room, built out bay window in the other... chairs... sofa... centre table with a big bowl of chrysanthemums - another bowl in window - all fresh and pleasant without much originality. The only incongruous note was a small silver vase with dead violets in it on a table near the archway into the further room. Since he could not imagine Miss Blacklog tolerating dead flowers in a room, he imagined it to be the only indication that something out of the way had occurred to distract the routine of a well-run household.
    He said: “I take it, Miss Blacklog, that