Twenty-nine

ACCIDENT

“Anne,” said Rhoda.

“Mmm?”

“No, really, Anne, don’t answer with half your mind on a crossword¹ puzzle. I want you toattend to me.”

“I am attending.”

Anne sat bolt upright and put down the paper.

“That’s better. Look here, Anne.” Rhoda hesitated. “About this man coming.”

“Superintendent² Battle?”

“Yes, Anne, I wish you’d tell him—about being at the Bensons.’”

Anne’s voice grew rather cold.

“Nonsense. Why should I?”

“Because—well, it might look—as though you’d been keeping something back. I’m sure itwould be better to mention it.”

“I can’t very well now,” said Anne coldly.

“I wish you had in the first place.”

“Well, it’s too late to bother about that now.”

“Yes.” Rhoda did not sound convinced.

Anne said rather irritably³:

“In any case, I can’t see why. It’s got nothing to do with all this.”

“No, of course not.”

“I was only there about two months. He only wants these things as—well—references. Twomonths doesn’t count.”

“No, I know. I expect I’m being rather foolish, but it does worry me rather. I feel you ought tomention it. You see, if it came out some other way, it might look rather bad—your keeping darkabout it, I mean.”

“I don’t see how it can come out. Nobody knows but you.”

“N-no?”

Anne pounced⁴ on the slight hesitation⁵ in Rhoda’s voice.

“Why, who does know?”

“Well, everyone at Combeacre,” said Rhoda after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, that!” Anne dismissed it with a shrug⁶. “The superintendent isn’t likely to come up againstanyone from there. It would be an extraordinary coincidence if he did.”

“Coincidences happen.”

“Rhoda, you’re being extraordinary about this. Fuss, fuss, fuss.”

“I’m terribly sorry, darling. Only you know what the police might be like if they thought youwere—well—hiding things.”

“They won’t know. Who’s to tell them? Nobody knows but you.”

It was the second time she had said those words. At this second repetition her voice changed alittle—something queer and speculative⁷ came into it.

“Oh, dear, I wish you would,” sighed Rhoda unhappily.

She looked guiltily at Anne, but Anne was not looking at her. She was sitting with a frown onher face, as though working out some calculation.

“Rather fun, Major Despard turning up,” said Rhoda.

“What? Oh, yes.”

“Anne, he is attractive. If you don’t want him, do, do, do hand him over to me!”

“Don’t be absurd, Rhoda. He doesn’t care tuppence for me.”

“Then why does he keep on turning up? Of course he’s keen on you. You’re just the sort ofdistressed damsel that he’d enjoy rescuing. You look so beautifully helpless, Anne.”

“He’s equally pleasant to both of us.”

“That’s only his niceness. But if you don’t want him, I could do the sympathetic friend act—console his broken heart, etc., etc., and in the end I might get him. Who knows?” Rhoda concludedinelegantly.

“I’m sure you’re quite welcome to him, my dear,” said Anne, laughing.

“He’s got such a lovely back to his neck,” sighed Rhoda. “Very brick red and muscular.”

“Darling, must you be so mawkish⁸?”

“Do you like him, Anne?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Aren’t we prim⁹ and sedate¹⁰? I think he likes me a little—not as much as you, but a little.”

“Oh, but he does like you,” said Anne.

Again there was an unusual note in her voice, but Rhoda did not hear it.

“What time is our sleuth coming?” she asked.

“Twelve,” said Anne. She was silent for a minute or two, then she said, “It’s only half past tennow. Let’s go out on the river.”

“But isn’t—didn’t—didn’t Despard say he’d come round about eleven?”

“Why should we wait in for him? We can leave a message with Mrs. Astwell which way we’vegone, and he can follow us along the towpath.”

“In fact, don’t make yourself cheap, dear, as mother always said!” laughed Rhoda. “Come on,then.”

She went out of the room and through the garden door. Anne followed her.

Major Despard called at Wendon Cottage about ten minutes later. He was before his time, heknew, so he was a little surprised to find both girls had already gone out.

He went through the garden and across the fields, and turned to the right along the towpath.

Mrs. Astwell remained a minute or two looking after him, instead of getting on with hermorning chores.

“Sweet on one or other of ’em, he is,” she observed to herself. “I think it’s Miss Anne, but I’mnot certain. He don’t give much away by his face. Treats ’em both alike. I’m not sure they ain’tboth sweet on him, too. If so, they won’t be such dear friends so much longer. Nothing like agentleman for coming between two young ladies.”

Pleasurably excited by the prospect¹¹ of assisting at a budding romance, Mrs. Astwell turnedindoors to her task of washing up the breakfast things, when once again the doorbell rang.

“Drat that door,” said Mrs. Astwell. “Do it on purpose, they do. Parcel, I suppose. Or might be atelegram.”

She moved slowly to the front door.

Two gentlemen stood there, a small foreign gentleman and an exceedingly English, big, burlygentleman. The latter she had seen before, she remembered.

“Miss Meredith at home?” asked the big man.

Mrs. Astwell shook her head.

“Just gone out.”

“Really? Which way? We didn’t meet her.”

Mrs. Astwell, secretly studying the amazing moustache of the other gentleman, and decidingthat they looked an unlikely pair to be friends, volunteered further information.

“Gone out on the river,” she explained.

The other gentleman broke in:

“And the other lady? Miss Dawes?”

“They’ve both gone.”

“Ah, thank you,” said Battle. “Let me see, which way does one get to the river?”

“First turning to the left, down the lane,” Mrs. Astwell replied promptly¹². “When you get to thetowpath, go right. I heard them say that’s the way they were going,” she added helpfully. “Notabove a quarter of an hour ago. You’ll soon catch ’em up.”

“And I wonder,” she added to herself as she unwillingly¹³ closed the front door, having staredinquisitively at their retreating backs, “who you two might be. Can’t place you, somehow.”

Mrs. Astwell returned to the kitchen sink, and Battle and Poirot duly took the first turning to theleft—a straggling lane which soon ended abruptly¹⁴ at the towpath.

Poirot was hurrying along, and Battle eyed him curiously¹⁵.

“Anything the matter, M. Poirot? You seem in a mighty¹⁶ hurry.”

“It is true. I am uneasy, my friend.”

“Anything particular?”

Poirot shook his head.

“No. But there are possibilities. You never know….”

“You’ve got something in your head,” said Battle. “You were urgent that we should come downhere this morning without losing a moment—and, my word, you made Constable¹⁷ Turner step onthe gas! What are you afraid of? The girl’s shot her bolt.”

Poirot was silent.

“What are you afraid of?” Battle repeated.

“What is one always afraid of in these cases?”

Battle nodded.

“You’re quite right. I wonder—”

“You wonder what, my friend?”

Battle said slowly:

“I’m wondering if Miss Meredith knows that her friend told Mrs. Oliver a certain fact.”

Poirot nodded his head in vigorous appreciation¹⁸.

“Hurry, my friend,” he said.

They hastened along the riverbank. There was no craft visible on the water’s surface, butpresently they rounded a bend, and Poirot suddenly stopped dead. Battle’s quick eyes saw also.

“Major Despard,” he said.

Despard was about two hundred yards ahead of them, striding along the riverbank.

A little farther on the two girls were in view in a punt on the water, Rhoda punting—Anne lyingand laughing up at her. Neither of them were looking towards the bank.

And then—it happened. Anne’s hand outstretched, Rhoda’s stagger, her plunge¹⁹ overboard—herdesperate grasp at Anne’s sleeve—the rocking boat—then an overturned punt and two girlsstruggling in the water.

“See it?” cried Battle as he started to run. “Little Meredith caught her round the ankle andtipped her in. My God, that’s her fourth murder!”

They were both running hard. But someone was ahead of them. It was clear that neither girlcould swim, but Despard had run quickly along the path to the nearest point, and now he plungedin and swam towards them.

“Mon Dieu, this is interesting,” cried Poirot. He caught Battle’s arm. “Which of them will he gofor first?”

The two girls were not together. About twelve yards separated them.

Despard swam powerfully towards them—there was no check in his stroke. He was makingstraight for Rhoda.

Battle, in his turn, reached the nearest bank and went in. Despard had just brought Rhodasuccessfully to shore. He hauled her up, flung her down and plunged²⁰ in again, swimming towardsthe spot where Anne had just gone under.

“Be careful,” called Battle. “Weeds.”

He and Battle got to the spot at the same time, but Anne had gone under before they reachedher.

They got her at last and between them towed her to the shore.

Rhoda was being ministered to by Poirot. She was sitting up now, her breath coming unevenly²¹.

Despard and Battle laid Anne Meredith down.

“Artificial respiration,” said Battle. “Only thing to do. But I’m afraid she’s gone.”

He set to work methodically. Poirot stood by, ready to relieve him.

Despard dropped down by Rhoda.

“Are you all right?” he asked hoarsely²².

She said slowly:

“You saved me. You saved me … ” She held out her hands to him, and as he took them sheburst suddenly into tears.

He said, “Rhoda….”

Their hands clung together….

He had a sudden vision—of African scrub, and Rhoda, laughing and adventurous²³, by his side….

 

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