The Clocks by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page A

house?”
    â€œNot that I can remember. Not today. What sort of man was he?”
    â€œAn elderly man about sixty, respectably dressed in a dark suit. He may have represented himself as an insurance agent.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have let him in,” said Mrs. Curtin. “No insurance agents and nobody selling vacuum cleaners or editions of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Nothing of that sort. Miss Pebmarsh doesn’t hold with selling at the door and neither do I.”
    â€œThe man’s name, according to a card that was on him, was Mr. Curry. Have you ever heard that name?”
    â€œCurry? Curry?” Mrs. Curtin shook her head. “Sounds Indian to me,” she said, suspiciously.
    â€œOh, no,” said Inspector Hardcastle, “he wasn’t an Indian.”
    â€œWho found him—Miss Pebmarsh?”
    â€œA young lady, a shorthand typist, had arrived because, owing to a misunderstanding, she thought she’d been sent for to do some work for Miss Pebmarsh. It was she who discovered the body. Miss Pebmarsh returned almost at the same moment.”
    Mrs. Curtin uttered a deep sigh.
    â€œWhat a to-do,” she said, “what a to-do!”
    â€œWe may ask you at some time,” said Inspector Hardcastle, “to look at this man’s body and tell us if he is a man you have ever seenin Wilbraham Crescent or calling at the house before. Miss Pebmarsh is quite positive he has never been there. Now there are various small points I would like to know. Can you recall offhand how many clocks there are in the sitting room?”
    Mrs. Curtin did not even pause.
    â€œThere’s that big clock in the corner, grandfather they call it, and there’s the cuckoo clock on the wall. It springs out and says ‘cuckoo.’ Doesn’t half make you jump sometimes.” She added hastily, “I didn’t touch neither of them. I never do. Miss Pebmarsh likes to wind them herself.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with them,” the inspector assured her. “You’re sure these were the only two clocks in the room this morning?”
    â€œOf course. What others should there be?”
    â€œThere was not, for instance, a small square silver clock, what they call a carriage clock, or a little gilt clock—on the mantelpiece that was, or a china clock with flowers on it—or a leather clock with the name Rosemary written across the corner?”
    â€œOf course there wasn’t. No such thing.”
    â€œYou would have noticed them if they had been there?”
    â€œOf course I should.”
    â€œEach of these four clocks represented a time about an hour later than the cuckoo clock and the grandfather clock.”
    â€œMust have been foreign,” said Mrs. Curtin. “Me and my old man went on a coach trip to Switzerland and Italy once and it was a whole hour further on there. Must be something to do with this Common Market. I don’t hold with the Common Market and nor does Mr. Curtin. England’s good enough for me.”
    Inspector Hardcastle declined to be drawn into politics.
    â€œCan you tell me exactly when you left Miss Pebmarsh’s house this morning?”
    â€œQuarter past twelve, near as nothing,” said Mrs. Curtin.
    â€œWas Miss Pebmarsh in the house then?”
    â€œNo, she hadn’t come back. She usually comes back some time between twelve and half past, but it varies.”
    â€œAnd she had left the house—when?”
    â€œBefore I got there. Ten o’clock’s my time.”
    â€œWell, thank you, Mrs. Curtin.”
    â€œSeems queer about these clocks,” said Mrs. Curtin. “Perhaps Miss Pebmarsh had been to a sale. Antiques, were they? They sound like it by what you say.”
    â€œDoes Miss Pebmarsh often go to sales?”
    â€œGot a roll of hair carpet about four months ago at a sale. Quite good condition. Very cheap, she told me. Got some velour curtains too. They