Three Blind Mice by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

dug out,” said Major Metcalf. “That accounts for a good deal, I daresay.”
    “People have so many excuses for giving way to nerves,” said Mrs. Boyle acidly. “I’m sure I went through as much as anybody in the war, and my nerves are all right.”
    “Perhaps that’s just as well for you, Mrs. Boyle,” said Metcalf.
    “What do you mean?”
    Major Metcalf said quietly, “I think you were actually the billeting officer for this district in 1940, Mrs. Boyle.” He looked at Molly who gave a grave nod. “That is so, isn’t it?”
    An angry flush appeared on Mrs. Boyle’s face. “What of it?” she demanded.
    Metcalf said gravely, “ You were responsible for sending three children to Longridge Farm.”
    “Really, Major Metcalf, I don’t see how I can be held responsible for what happened. The Farm people seemed very nice and were most anxious to have the children. I don’t see that I was to blame in any way—or that I can be held responsible—” Her voice trailed off.
    Giles said sharply, “Why didn’t you tell Sergeant Trotter this?”
    “No business of the police,” snapped Mrs. Boyle. “I can look after myself.”
    Major Metcalf said quietly, “You’d better watch out.”
    Then he, too, left the room.
    Molly murmured, “Of course, you were the billeting officer. I remember.”
    “Molly, did you know?” Giles stared at her.
    “You had the big house on the common, didn’t you?”
    “Requisitioned,” said Mrs. Boyle. “And completely ruined,” she added bitterly. “ Devastated. Iniquitous.”
    Then, very softly, Mr. Paravicini began to laugh. He threw his head back and laughed without restraint.
    “You must forgive me,” he gasped. “But, indeed, I find all this most amusing. I enjoy myself—yes, I enjoy myself greatly.”
    Sergeant Trotter re-entered the room at that moment. He threw a glance of disapproval at Mr. Paravicini. “I’m glad,” he said acidly, “that everyone finds this so funny.”
    “I apologize, my dear Inspector. I do apologize. I am spoiling the effect of your solemn warning.”
    Sergeant Trotter shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve done my best to make the position clear,” he said. “And I’m not an inspector. I’m only a sergeant. I’d like to use the telephone, please, Mrs. Davis.”
    “I abase myself,” said Mr. Paravicini. “I creep away.”
    Far from creeping, he left the room with that jaunty and youthful step that Molly had noticed before.
    “He’s an odd fish,” said Giles.
    “Criminal type,” said Trotter. “Wouldn’t trust him a yard.”
    “Oh,” said Molly. “You think he —but he’s far too old—Or is he old at all? He uses makeup—quite a lot of it. And his walk is young. Perhaps, he’s made up to look old. Sergeant Trotter, do you think—”
    Sergeant Trotter snubbed her severely. “We shan’t get anywhere with unprofitable speculation, Mrs. Davis,” he said. “I must report to Superintendent Hogben.”
    He crossed to the telephone.
    “But you can’t,” said Molly. “The telephone’s dead.”
    “What?” Trotter swung round.
    The sharp alarm in his voice impressed them all. “Dead? Since when?”
    “Major Metcalf tried it just before you came.”
    “But it was all right before that. You got Superintendent Hogben’s message?”
    “Yes. I suppose—since ten—the line’s down—with the snow.”
    But Trotter’s face remained grave. “I wonder,” he said. “It may have been—cut.”
    Molly stared. “You think so?”
    “I’m going to make sure.”
    He hurried out of the room. Giles hesitated, then went after him.
    Molly exclaimed, “Good heavens! Nearly lunchtime, I must get on—or we’ll have nothing to eat.”
    As she rushed from the room, Mrs. Boyle muttered, “Incompetent chit! What a place. I shan’t pay seven guineas for this kind of thing.”
    Sergeant Trotter bent down, following the wires. He asked Giles, “Is there an extension?”
    “Yes, in our bedroom upstairs. Shall I go up and see