By The Pricking of My Thumbs by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

of Cleves' castle retailing a lot of spicy gossip that I'd heard.'
    The door opened, and Miss Packard appeared in company with a tall, freckle-faced young woman in nurse's dress and a mop of red hair.
    'This is Miss O'Keefe - Mr and Mrs Beresford. They have something to tell you. Excuse me, will you? One of the patients is asking for me.'
    Tuppence duly made the presentation of Aunt Ada's fur stole and Nurse O'Keefe was enraptured.
    'Oh! It's lovely. It's too good for me, though. You'll be wanting it yourself -'
    'No, I don't really. It's on the big side for me. I'm too small. It's just right for a tall girl like you. Aunt Ada was tall.'
    'Ah! she was the grand old lady - she must have been very handsome as a girl.'
    'I suppose so,' said Tommy doubtfully. 'She must have been a tartar to look after, though.'
    'Oh, she was that, indeed. But she had a grand spirit. Nothing got her down. And she was no fool either. You'd be surprised the way she got to know things. Sharp as a needle, she was.'
    'She had a temper, though.'
    'Yes, indeed. But it's the whining kind that gets you down, all complaints and moans. Miss Fanshawe was never dull. Grand stories she'd tell you of the old days. Rode a horse once up the staircase of a country house when she was a girl - or so she said. Would that be true now?'
    'Well, I wouldn't put it past her,' said Tommy.
    'You never know what you can believe here. The tales the old dears come and tell you. Criminals that they've recognized - we must notify the police at once - if not, we're all in danger.'
    'Somebody was being poisoned last time we were here, I remember,' said Tuppence.
    'Ah! that was only Mrs Lockett. It happens to her every day. But it's not the police she wants, it's a doctor to be called - she's that crazy about doctors.'
    'And somebody - a little woman - calling out for cocoa -'
    'That would be Mrs Moody. Poor soul she's gone.'
    'You mean left here - gone away?'
    'No - it was a thrombosis took her - very sudden. She was one who was very devoted to your Aunt - not that Miss Fanshawe always had time for her - always talking nineteen to the dozen, as she did -'
    'Mrs Lancaster has left, I hear.'
    'Yes, her folk came for her. She didn't want to go, poor thing.'
    'What was the story she told me - about the fireplace in the sitting room?'
    'Ah! she'd lots of stories, that one - about the things that happened to her - and the secrets she knew -'
    'There was something about a child - a kidnapped child or a murdered child -'
    'It's strange it is, the things they think up. It's the TV as often as not that gives them the ideas -'
    'Do you find it a strain, working here with all these old people? It must be tiring.'
    'Oh no. I like old people. That's why I took up Geriatric work -'
    'You've been here long?'
    'A year and a half -' She paused. 'But I'm leaving next month.'
    'Oh! why?'
    For the first time a certain constraint came into Nurse O'Keefe's manner.
    'Well, you see, Mrs Beresford, one needs a change...'
    'But you'll be doing the same kind of work?'
    'Oh yes!' She picked up the fur stole. 'I'm thanking you again very much - and I'm glad, too, to have something to remember Miss Fanshawe by. She was a grand old lady. You don't find many like her nowadays.'

By The Pricking of My Thumbs

Chapter 5
    DISAPPEARANCE OF AN OLD LADY
    Aunt Ada's things arrived in due course. The desk was installed and admired. The little worktable dispossessed the whatnot which was relegated to a dark corner of the hall. And the picture of the pale pink house by the canal bridge Tuppence hung over the mantelpiece in her bedroom where she could see it every morning when drinking her early morning tea.
    Since her conscience still troubled her a little, Tuppence wrote a letter explaining how the picture had come into their possession but that if Mrs Lancaster would like it returned, she had only got to let them know. This she dispatched to Mrs Lancaster, c/o Mrs Johnson, at the Cleveland Hotel, George Street, London, W.