Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

remember, perhaps,' said Gwenda.
    'Father?' Miss Galbraith shook her head. 'He doesn't take much notice nowadays, and his memory's very shaky.'
    Gwenda's eyes were resting thoughtfully on a Benares brass table and they shifted to a procession of ebony elephants marching along the mantelpiece.
    'I thought he might remember, perhaps,' she said, 'because my father had just come from India. Your house is called Calcutta Lodge?'
    She paused interrogatively.
    'Yes,’ said Miss Galbraith. 'Father was out in Calcutta for a time. In business there. Then the war came and in 1920 he came into the firm here, but would have liked to go back, he always says. But my mother didn't fancy foreign parts—and of course you can't say the climate's really healthy. Well, I don't know—perhaps you'd like to see my father. I don't know that it's one of his good days—'
    She led them into a small black study. Here, propped up in a big shabby leather chair sat an old gentleman with a white walrus moustache. His face was pulled slightly sideways. He eyed Gwenda with distinct approval as his daughter made the introductions.
    'Memory's not what it used to be,' he said in a rather indistinct voice. 'Halliday, you say? No, I don't remember the name. Knew a boy at school in Yorkshire—but that's seventy-odd years ago.'
    'He rented Hillside, we think,' said Giles.
    'Hillside? Was it called Hillside then?' Mr Galbraith's one movable eyelid snapped shut and open. 'Findeyson lived there. Fine woman.'
    'My father might have rented it furnished... He'd just come from India.'
    'India? India, d'you say? Remember a fellow—Army man. Knew that old rascal Mohammed Hassan who cheated me over some carpets. Had a young wife—and a baby-little girl.'
    'That was me,' said Gwenda firmly.
    'In—deed—you don't say so! Well, well, time flies. Now what was his name? Wanted a place furnished—yes—Mrs Findeyson had been ordered to Egypt or some such place for the winter—all tomfoolery. Now what was his name?'
    'Halliday,' said Gwenda.
    'That's right, my dear—Halliday. Major Halliday. Nice fellow. Very pretty wife—quite young—fair-haired, wanted to be near her people or something like that. Yes, very pretty.'
    'Who were her people?'
    'No idea at all. No idea. You don't look like her.'
    Gwenda nearly said, 'She was only my stepmother,' but refrained from complicating the issue. She said, 'What did she look like?'
    Unexpectedly Mr Galbraith replied: 'Looked worried. That's what she looked, worried. Yes, very nice fellow, that Major chap. Interested to hear I'd been out in Calcutta. Not like these chaps that have never been out of England. Narrow—that's what they are. Now I've seen the world. What was his name, that Army chap—wanted a furnished house?'
    He was like a very old gramophone, repeating a worn record.
    'St Catherine's. That's it. Took St Catherine's—six guineas a week—while Mrs Findeyson was in Egypt. Died there, poor soul. House was put up for auction—who bought it now? Elworthys—that's it—pack of women—sisters. Changed the name—said St Catherine's was Popish. Very down on anything Popish—Used to send out tracts. Plain women, all of 'em—Took an interest in niggers—Sent 'em out trousers and bibles. Very strong on converting the heathen.'
    He sighed suddenly and leant back.
    'Long time ago,’ he said fretfully. 'Can't remember names. Chap from India—nice chap... I'm tired, Gladys. I'd like my tea.'
    Giles and Gwenda thanked him, thanked his daughter, and came away.
    'So that's proved,' said Gwenda. 'My father and I were at Hillside. What do we do next?'
    'I've been an idiot,' said Giles. 'Somerset House.'
    'What's Somerset House?' asked Gwenda.
    'It's a record office where you can look up marriages. I'm going there to look up your father's marriage. According to your aunt, your father was married to his second wife immediately on arriving in England. Don't you see, Gwenda—it ought to have occurred to us before—it's perfectly