Read Online After the Funeral by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
Ads: Link
Banks stood absently whittling at a pencil.
A thin, pale, nondescript young man with reddish sandy hair. So overshadowed by Susan's colourful personality that it was difficult to realise what he himself was really like. Nothing to take hold of in the fellow - quite pleasant, ready to be agreeable - a “yes” man, as the modern term went. And yet that did not seem to describe him satisfactorily. There was something vaguely disquieting about the unobtrusiveness of Gregory Banks. He had been an unsuitable match - yet Susan had insisted on marrying him - had overborne all opposition - why? What had she seen in him?
And now, six months after the marriage - “She's crazy about the fellow,” Mr Entwhistle said to himself. He knew the signs. A large number of wives with matrimonial troubles had passed through the office of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard. Wives madly devoted to unsatisfactory and often what appeared quite unprepossessing husbands, wives contemptuous of, and bored by, apparently attractive and impeccable husbands. What any woman saw in some particular man was beyond the comprehension of the average intelligent male. It just was so. A woman who could be intelligent about everything else in the world could be a complete fool when it came to some particular man. Susan, thought Mr Entwhistle, was one of those women. For her the world revolved around Greg. And that had its dangers in more ways than one.
Susan was talking with emphasis and indignation.
“- because it is disgraceful. You remember that woman who was murdered in Yorkshire last year? Nobody was ever arrested. And the old woman in the sweet shop who was killed with a crowbar. They detained some man, and then they let him go!”
“There has to be evidence, my dear,” said Mr Entwhistle.
Susan paid no attention.
“And that other case - a retired nurse - that was a hatchet or an axe - just like Aunt Cora.”
“Dear me, you appear to have made quite a study of these crimes, Susan,” said Mr Entwhistle mildly.
“Naturally one remembers these things - and when someone in one's own family is killed - and in very much the same way - well, it shows that there must be a lot of these sort of people going round the countryside, breaking into places and attacking lonely women - and that the police just don't bother!”
Mr Entwhistle shook his head.
“Don't belittle the police, Susan. They are a very shrewd and patient body of men - persistent, too. Just because it isn't still mentioned in the newspapers doesn't mean that a case is closed. Far from it.”
“And yet there are hundreds of unsolved crimes every year.”
“Hundreds?” Mr Entwhistle looked dubious. “A certain number, yes. But there are many occasions when the police know who has committed a crime but where the evidence is insufficient for a prosecution.”
“I don't believe it,” said Susan. “I believe if you knew definitely who committed a crime you could always get the evidence.”
“I wonder now.” Mr Entwhistle sounded thoughtful. “I very much wonder...”
“Have they any idea at all - in Aunt Cora's case - of who it might be?”
“That I couldn't say. Not as far as I know. But they would hardly confide in me - and it's early days yet - the murder took place only the day before yesterday, remember.”
“It's definitely got to be a certain kind of person,” Susan mused. “A brutal, perhaps slightly half-witted type - a discharged soldier or a gaol bird. I mean, using a hatchet like that.”
Looking slightly quizzical, Mr Entwhistle raised his eyebrows and murmured:
"Lizzie Borden with an axe
Gave her father fifty whacks
When she saw what she had done
She gave her mother fifty-one."
“Oh,” Susan flushed angrily, “Cora hadn't got any relations living with her - unless you mean the companion. And anyway Lizzie Borden was acquitted. Nobody knows for certain she killed her father and stepmother.”
“The rhyme is quite definitely libellous,”
A thin, pale, nondescript young man with reddish sandy hair. So overshadowed by Susan's colourful personality that it was difficult to realise what he himself was really like. Nothing to take hold of in the fellow - quite pleasant, ready to be agreeable - a “yes” man, as the modern term went. And yet that did not seem to describe him satisfactorily. There was something vaguely disquieting about the unobtrusiveness of Gregory Banks. He had been an unsuitable match - yet Susan had insisted on marrying him - had overborne all opposition - why? What had she seen in him?
And now, six months after the marriage - “She's crazy about the fellow,” Mr Entwhistle said to himself. He knew the signs. A large number of wives with matrimonial troubles had passed through the office of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard. Wives madly devoted to unsatisfactory and often what appeared quite unprepossessing husbands, wives contemptuous of, and bored by, apparently attractive and impeccable husbands. What any woman saw in some particular man was beyond the comprehension of the average intelligent male. It just was so. A woman who could be intelligent about everything else in the world could be a complete fool when it came to some particular man. Susan, thought Mr Entwhistle, was one of those women. For her the world revolved around Greg. And that had its dangers in more ways than one.
Susan was talking with emphasis and indignation.
“- because it is disgraceful. You remember that woman who was murdered in Yorkshire last year? Nobody was ever arrested. And the old woman in the sweet shop who was killed with a crowbar. They detained some man, and then they let him go!”
“There has to be evidence, my dear,” said Mr Entwhistle.
Susan paid no attention.
“And that other case - a retired nurse - that was a hatchet or an axe - just like Aunt Cora.”
“Dear me, you appear to have made quite a study of these crimes, Susan,” said Mr Entwhistle mildly.
“Naturally one remembers these things - and when someone in one's own family is killed - and in very much the same way - well, it shows that there must be a lot of these sort of people going round the countryside, breaking into places and attacking lonely women - and that the police just don't bother!”
Mr Entwhistle shook his head.
“Don't belittle the police, Susan. They are a very shrewd and patient body of men - persistent, too. Just because it isn't still mentioned in the newspapers doesn't mean that a case is closed. Far from it.”
“And yet there are hundreds of unsolved crimes every year.”
“Hundreds?” Mr Entwhistle looked dubious. “A certain number, yes. But there are many occasions when the police know who has committed a crime but where the evidence is insufficient for a prosecution.”
“I don't believe it,” said Susan. “I believe if you knew definitely who committed a crime you could always get the evidence.”
“I wonder now.” Mr Entwhistle sounded thoughtful. “I very much wonder...”
“Have they any idea at all - in Aunt Cora's case - of who it might be?”
“That I couldn't say. Not as far as I know. But they would hardly confide in me - and it's early days yet - the murder took place only the day before yesterday, remember.”
“It's definitely got to be a certain kind of person,” Susan mused. “A brutal, perhaps slightly half-witted type - a discharged soldier or a gaol bird. I mean, using a hatchet like that.”
Looking slightly quizzical, Mr Entwhistle raised his eyebrows and murmured:
"Lizzie Borden with an axe
Gave her father fifty whacks
When she saw what she had done
She gave her mother fifty-one."
“Oh,” Susan flushed angrily, “Cora hadn't got any relations living with her - unless you mean the companion. And anyway Lizzie Borden was acquitted. Nobody knows for certain she killed her father and stepmother.”
“The rhyme is quite definitely libellous,”
Similar Books
