The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

news, and, as to the bended knees, that was a figure of speech, his secretary, Mr. Pagett, having offered us double pay to stay on, and, as my John says, money is money nowadays.”
    I concurred heartily with John’s by no means original remarks.
    â€œThe young man now,” said Mrs. James, reverting suddenly to a former point in the conversation. “He was upset. His eyes, light eyes, they were, I noticed them particular, was all shining. Excited, I thought. But I never dreamt of anything being wrong. Not even when he came out again looking all queer.”
    â€œHow long was he in the house?”
    â€œOh, not long, a matter of five minutes maybe.”
    â€œHow tall was he, do you think? About six foot?”
    â€œI should say so maybe.”
    â€œHe was clean-shaven, you say?”
    â€œYes, miss—not even one of these toothbrush moustaches.”
    â€œWas his chin at all shiny?” I asked on a sudden impulse.
    Mrs. James stared at me with awe.
    â€œWell, now you come to mention it, miss, it was . However did you know?”
    â€œIt’s a curious thing, but murderers often have shiny chins,” I explained wildly.
    Mrs. James accepted the statement in all good faith.
    â€œReally, now, miss. I never heard that before.”
    â€œYou didn’t notice what kind of head he had, I suppose?”
    â€œJust the ordinary kind, miss. I’ll fetch you the keys, shall I?”
    I accepted them, and went on my way to the Mill House. My reconstructions so far I considered good. All along I had realized that the differences between the man Mrs. James had described and my Tube “doctor” were those of nonessentials. An overcoat, a beard, gold-rimmed eyeglasses. The “doctor” had appeared middle-aged, but I remembered that he had stooped over the body like a comparatively young man. There had been a suppleness which told of young joints.
    The victim of the accident (the Moth Ball man, as I called him to myself ) and the foreign woman, Mrs. de Castina, or whatever her real name was, had had an assignation to meet at the Mill House. That was how I pieced the thing together. Either because they feared they were being watched or for some other reason, they chose the rather ingenious method of both getting an order to view the same house. Thus their meeting there might have the appearance of pure chance.
    That the Moth Ball man had suddenly caught sight of the “doctor,” and that the meeting was totally unexpected and alarming to him, was another fact of which I was fairly sure. What had happened next? The “doctor” had removed his disguise and followed the woman to Marlow. But it was possible that had he removed it rather hastily traces of spirit gum might still linger on his chin. Hence my question to Mrs. James.
    Whilst occupied with my thoughts I had arrived at the low old-fashioned door of the Mill House. Unlocking it with the key, I passed inside. The hall was low and dark, the place smelt forlorn and mildewy. In spite of myself, I shivered. Did the woman who had come here “smiling to herself” a few days ago feel no chill of premonition as she entered this house? I wondered. Did the smile fade from her lips, and did a nameless dread close round her heart? Or had she gone upstairs, smiling still, unconscious of the doom that was so soon to overtake her? My heart beat a little faster. Was the house really empty? Was doom waiting for me in it also? For the first time, I understood the meaning of the much-used word, “atmosphere.” There was an atmosphere in this house, an atmosphere of cruelty, of menace, of evil.

Seven
    S haking off the feelings that oppressed me, I went quickly upstairs. I had no difficulty in finding the room of the tragedy. On the day the body was discovered it had rained heavily, and large muddy boots had trampled the uncarpeted floor in every direction. I wondered if the murderer had left any footmarks the