The Clocks by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

before.”
    â€œI never,” said Ernie virtuously. “And it’s a police car right enough, and there’s two men gettin’ out.”
    Mrs. Curtin wheeled round on her offspring.
    â€œWhat’ve you been doing now? ” she demanded. “Bringing us into disgrace, that’s what it is!”
    â€œCourse I ain’t,” said Ernie. “I ’aven’t done nothin’.”
    â€œIt’s going with that Alf,” said Mrs. Curtin. “Him and his gang. Gangs indeed! I’ve told you, and yer father’s told you, that gangs isn’t respectable. In the end there’s trouble. First it’ll be the juvenile court and then you’ll be sent to a remand home as likely as not. And I won’t have it, d’you hear?”
    â€œThey’re comin’ up to the front door,” Ernie announced.
    Mrs. Curtin abandoned the sink and joined her offspring at the window.
    â€œWell,” she muttered.
    At that moment the knocker was sounded. Wiping her hands quickly on the tea towel, Mrs. Curtin went out into the passage and opened the door. She looked with defiance and doubt at the two men on her doorstep.
    â€œMrs. Curtin?” said the taller of the two, pleasantly.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Mrs. Curtin.
    â€œMay I come in a moment? I’m Detective Inspector Hardcastle.”
    Mrs. Curtin drew back rather unwillingly. She threw open a door and motioned the inspector inside. It was a very neat, clean little room and gave the impression of seldom being entered, which impression was entirely correct.
    Ernie, drawn by curiosity, came down the passage from the kitchen and sidled inside the door.
    â€œYour son?” said Detective Inspector Hardcastle.
    â€œYes,” said Mrs. Curtin, and added belligerently, “he’s a good boy, no matter what you say.”
    â€œI’m sure he is,” said Detective Inspector Hardcastle, politely.
    Some of the defiance in Mrs. Curtin’s face relaxed.
    â€œI’ve come to ask you a few questions about 19, Wilbraham Crescent. You work there, I understand.”
    â€œNever said I didn’t,” said Mrs. Curtin, unable yet to shake off her previous mood.
    â€œFor a Miss Millicent Pebmarsh.”
    â€œYes, I work for Miss Pebmarsh. A very nice lady.”
    â€œBlind,” said Detective Inspector Hardcastle.
    â€œYes, poor soul. But you’d never know it. Wonderful the way she can put her hand on anything and find her way about. Goes out in the street, too, and over the crossings. She’s not one to make a fuss about things, not like some people I know.”
    â€œYou work there in the mornings?”
    â€œThat’s right. I come about half past nine to ten, and leave at twelve o’clock or when I’m finished.” Then sharply, “You’re not saying as anything ’as been stolen, are you?”
    â€œQuite the reverse,” said the inspector, thinking of four clocks.
    Mrs. Curtin looked at him uncomprehendingly.
    â€œWhat’s the trouble?” she asked.
    â€œA man was found dead in the sitting room at 19, Wilbraham Crescent this afternoon.”
    Mrs. Curtin stared. Ernie Curtin wriggled in ecstasy, opened his mouth to say “Coo,” thought it unwise to draw attention to his presence, and shut it again.
    â€œDead?” said Mrs. Curtin unbelievingly. And with even more unbelief, “In the sitting room? ”
    â€œYes. He’d been stabbed.”
    â€œYou mean it’s murder? ”
    â€œYes, murder.”
    â€œOo murdered ’im?” demanded Mrs. Curtin.
    â€œI’m afraid we haven’t got quite so far as that yet,” said Inspector Hardcastle. “We thought perhaps you may be able to help us.”
    â€œI don’t know anything about murder,” said Mrs. Curtin positively.
    â€œNo, but there are one or two points that have arisen. This morning, for instance, did any man call at the