Destination Unknown by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

to do it.”
    “You're a free agent.”
    “There is one question we shall have to decide. Are we to tell her that she is dying?”
    “I don't know. I shall have to think it out.”
    She nodded and went back to her place by the bed. She was filled now with a deep compassion for the woman who lay there dying. The woman who was on her way to join the man she loved. Or were they all wrong? Had she come to Morocco simply to seek solace, to pass the time until perhaps some definite news could come to her as to whether her husband were alive or dead? Hilary wondered.
    Time went on. It was nearly two hours later when the click of the nun's beads stopped. She spoke in a soft impersonal voice.
    “There is a change,” she said. “I think, Madame, it is the end that comes. I will fetch the doctor.”
    She left the room. Jessop moved to the opposite side of the bed, standing back against the wall so that he was out of the woman's range of vision. The eyelids flickered and opened. Pale incurious blue eyes looked into Hilary's. They closed, then opened again. A faint air of perplexity seemed to come into them.
    “Where...?”
    The word fluttered between the almost breathless lips, just as the doctor entered the room. He took her hand in his, his finger on the pulse, standing by the bed looking down on her.
    “You are in hospital, Madame,” he said. “There was an accident to the plane.”
    “To the plane?”
    The words were repeated dreamily in that faint breathless voice.
    “Is there anyone you want to see in Casablanca, Madame? Any message we can take?”
    Her eyes were raised painfully to the doctor's face. She said:
    “No.”
    She looked back again at Hilary.
    “Who - who -”
    Hilary bent forward and spoke clearly and distinctly.
    “I came out from England on a plane, too - if there is anything I can do to help you, please tell me.”
    “No - nothing - nothing - unless -”
    “Yes?”
    “Nothing.”
    The eyes flickered again and half closed - Hilary raised her head and looked across to meet Jessop's imperious commanding glance. Firmly, she shook her head.
    Jessop moved forward. He stood close beside the doctor. The dying woman's eyes opened again. Sudden recognition came into them. She said:
    “I know you.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Betterton, you know me. Will you tell me anything you can about your husband?”
    “No.”
    Her eyelids fell again. Jessop turned quietly and left the room. The doctor looked across at Hilary. He said very softly,
    “C'est la fin!”
    The dying woman's eyes opened again. They travelled painfully round the room, then they remained fixed on Hilary. Olive Betterton made a very faint motion with her hand, and Hilary instinctively took the white cold hand between her own. The doctor, with a shrug of his shoulders and a little bow, left the room. The two women were alone together. Olive Betterton was trying to speak:
    “Tell me - tell me -”
    Hilary knew what she was asking, and suddenly her own course of action opened clearly before her. She leaned down over the recumbent form.
    “Yes,” she said, her words clear and emphatic. “You are dying. That's what you want to know, isn't it? Now listen to me. I am going to try and reach your husband. Is there any message you want me to give him if I succeed?”
    “Tell him - tell him - to be careful. Boris - Boris - dangerous...”
    The breath fluttered off again with a sigh. Hilary bent closer.
    “Is there anything you can tell me to help me - help me in my journey, I mean? Help me to get in contact with your husband?”
    “Snow.”
    The word came so faintly that Hilary was puzzled. Snow? Snow? She repeated it uncomprehendingly. A faint, ghostlike little giggle came from Olive Betterton. Faint words came tumbling out:
    "Snow, snow, beautiful snow!
    You slip on a lump, and over you go!"
    She repeated the last word. “Go... Go? Go and tell him about Boris. I didn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. But perhaps it's true... If so, if so...” a kind of