Death in the Clouds by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

said Jane. “I don't think I could. I shouldn't know what to say.”
    “That's all right,” said the young man easily. “You needn't actually write the article, you know. One of our fellows will just ask you for a few suggestions and work the whole thing up for you. It won't be the least trouble to you.”
    “All the same,” said Jane, “I'd rather not.”
    “What about a hundred quid? Look here; I really will make it a hundred. And give us a photograph.”
    “No,” said Jane. “I don't like the idea.”
    “So you may as well clear out,” said Norman Gale. “Miss Grey doesn't want to be worried.”
    The young man turned to him hopefully.
    “Mr Gale, isn't it?” he said. “Now look here, Mr Gale. If Miss Grey feels a bit squeamish about it, what about your having a shot? Five hundred words. And we'll pay you the same as I offered Miss Grey - and that's a good bargain, because a woman's account of another woman's murder is better news value. I'm offering you a good chance.”
    “I don't want it. I shan't write a word for you.”
    “It'll be good publicity apart from the pay. Rising professional man - brilliant career ahead of you - all your patients will read it.”
    “That,” said Norman Gale, “is mostly what I'm afraid of!”
    “Well, you can't get anywhere without publicity in these days.”
    “Possibly, but it depends on the kind of publicity. I'm hoping that just one or two of my patients may not read the papers and may continue in ignorance of the fact that I've been mixed up in a murder case. Now you've had your answer from both of us. Are you going quietly, or have I got to kick you out of here?”
    “Nothing to get annoyed about,” said the young man, quite undisturbed by this threat of violence. “Good evening, and ring me up at the office if you change your mind. Here's my card.”
    He made his way cheerfully out of the tea shop, thinking to himself as he did so: “Not too bad. Made quite a decent interview.”
    And, in truth, the next issue of the Weekly Howl had an important column on the views of two of the witnesses in the air-murder mystery. Miss Jane Grey had declared herself too distressed to talk about the matter. It had been a terrible shock to her and she hated to think about it. Mr Norman Gale had expressed himself at length on the effect upon a professional man's career of being mixed up in a criminal case, however innocently. Mr Gale had humorously expressed the hope that some of his patients only read the fashion columns and so might not suspect the worst when they came for the ordeal of the “chair.”
    When the young man had departed, Jane said:
    “I wonder why he didn't go for the more important people.”
    “Leaves that to his betters, probably,” said Gale grimly. “He's probably tried there and failed.”
    He sat frowning for a minute or two. Then he said:
    “Jane - I'm going to call you Jane; you don't mind, do you? - Jane, who do you think really murdered this Giselle woman?”
    “I haven't the faintest idea.”
    “Have you thought about it? Really thought about it?”
    “Well, no, I don't suppose I have. I've been thinking about my own part in it, and worrying a little. I haven't really wondered seriously which - which of the others did it. I don't think I'd realized until today that one of them must have done it.”
    “Yes, the coroner put it very plainly. I know I didn't do it and I know you didn't do it because - well, because I was watching you most of the time.”
    “Yes,” said Jane. “I know you didn't do it - for the same reason. And of course I know I didn't do it myself! So it must have been one of the others - but I don't know which. I haven't the slightest idea. Have you?”
    “No.”
    Norman Gale looked very thoughtful. He seemed to be puzzling out some train of thought. Jane went on:
    “I don't see how we can have the least idea, either. I mean we didn't see anything - at least I didn't. Did you?”
    Gale shook his head.
    “Not a