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Authors: Agatha Christie
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know, the naval officers and the ones up at Shelton Military Camp too. She had one or two friends there, you know. The military camp it was.'
'Was she really a spy?'
'Shouldn't think so. I mean, my grandmother said that was what people said. It wasn't in the last war. It was ages before that.'
'Funny,' said Tuppence, 'how easy it is to get mixed up over the wars. I knew an old man who had a friend in the Battle of Waterloo.'
'Oh, fancy that. Years before 1914. People did have foreign nurses - what were called Mamoselles as well as Frowlines, whatever a Frowline is. Very nice with children she was Granny said. Everyone was very pleased with her and always liked her.'
'That was when she was living here, living at The Laurels?'
'Wasn't called that then - at least I don't think so. She was living with the Parkinsons or the Perkins, some name like that,' said Gwenda. 'What we call nowadays an au pair girl. She came from that place where the patty comes from, you know, Fortnum & Mason keep it - expensive patty for parties. Half German, half French, so someone told me.'
'Strasbourg?' suggested Tuppence.
'Yes, that was the name. She used to paint pictures. Did one of an old great-aunt of mine. It made her look too old, Aunt Fanny always said. Did one of one of the Parkinson boys. Old Mrs Griffin's got it still. The Parkinson boy found out something about her, I believe - the one she painted the picture of, I mean. Godson of Mrs Griffin, I believe he was.'
'Would that have been Alexander Parkinson?'
'Yes, that's the one. The one who's buried near the church.'
Postern of Fate
Chapter 2
INTRODUCTION TO MATHILDE, TRUELOVE AND KK
Tuppence, on the following morning, went in search of that well-known public character in the village known usually as Old Isaac, or, on formal occasions if one could remember, Mr Bodlicott. Isaac Bodlicott was one of the local 'characters'. He was a character because of his age - he claimed to be ninety (not generally believed) - and he was able to do repairs of many curious kinds. If your efforts to ring up the plumber met with no response, you went to old Isaac Bodlicott. Mr Bodlicott, whether or not he was in any way qualified for the repairs he did, had been well acquainted for many of the years of his long life with every type of sanitation problem, bath water problems, difficulties with geysers, and sundry electrical problems on the side. His charges compared favourably with a real live qualified plumber, and his repairs were often surprisingly successful. He could do carpentering, he could attend to locks, he could hang pictures - rather crookedly sometimes - he understood about the springs of derelict armchairs. The main disadvantage of Mr Bodlicott's attentions was his garrulous habit of incessant conversation slightly hampered by a difficulty in adjusting his false teeth in such a way as to make what he said intelligible in his pronunciation. His memories of past inhabitants of the neighbourhood seemed to be unlimited. It was difficult, on the whole, to know how reliable they might be. Mr Bodlicott was not one to shirk giving himself the pleasure of retailing some really good story of past days. These flights of fancy, claimed usually as flights of memory, were usually ushered in with the same type of statement.
'You'd be surprised, you would, if I could tell you what I knew about that one. Yes indeed. Well, you know, everybody thought they knew all about it, but they were wrong. Absolutely wrong. It was the elder sister, you know. Yes, it was. Such a nice girl she seemed. It was the butcher's dog that gave them all the clue. Followed her home, he did. Yes. Only it wasn't her own home, as you might say. Ah well, I could tell you a lot more about that. Then there was old Mrs Atkins. Nobody knew as she kept a revolver in the house, but I knew. I knew when I was sent for to mend her tallboy - that's what they call those high chests, isn't it? Yes. Tallboys. Well, that's right. Well, there
'Was she really a spy?'
'Shouldn't think so. I mean, my grandmother said that was what people said. It wasn't in the last war. It was ages before that.'
'Funny,' said Tuppence, 'how easy it is to get mixed up over the wars. I knew an old man who had a friend in the Battle of Waterloo.'
'Oh, fancy that. Years before 1914. People did have foreign nurses - what were called Mamoselles as well as Frowlines, whatever a Frowline is. Very nice with children she was Granny said. Everyone was very pleased with her and always liked her.'
'That was when she was living here, living at The Laurels?'
'Wasn't called that then - at least I don't think so. She was living with the Parkinsons or the Perkins, some name like that,' said Gwenda. 'What we call nowadays an au pair girl. She came from that place where the patty comes from, you know, Fortnum & Mason keep it - expensive patty for parties. Half German, half French, so someone told me.'
'Strasbourg?' suggested Tuppence.
'Yes, that was the name. She used to paint pictures. Did one of an old great-aunt of mine. It made her look too old, Aunt Fanny always said. Did one of one of the Parkinson boys. Old Mrs Griffin's got it still. The Parkinson boy found out something about her, I believe - the one she painted the picture of, I mean. Godson of Mrs Griffin, I believe he was.'
'Would that have been Alexander Parkinson?'
'Yes, that's the one. The one who's buried near the church.'
Postern of Fate
Chapter 2
INTRODUCTION TO MATHILDE, TRUELOVE AND KK
Tuppence, on the following morning, went in search of that well-known public character in the village known usually as Old Isaac, or, on formal occasions if one could remember, Mr Bodlicott. Isaac Bodlicott was one of the local 'characters'. He was a character because of his age - he claimed to be ninety (not generally believed) - and he was able to do repairs of many curious kinds. If your efforts to ring up the plumber met with no response, you went to old Isaac Bodlicott. Mr Bodlicott, whether or not he was in any way qualified for the repairs he did, had been well acquainted for many of the years of his long life with every type of sanitation problem, bath water problems, difficulties with geysers, and sundry electrical problems on the side. His charges compared favourably with a real live qualified plumber, and his repairs were often surprisingly successful. He could do carpentering, he could attend to locks, he could hang pictures - rather crookedly sometimes - he understood about the springs of derelict armchairs. The main disadvantage of Mr Bodlicott's attentions was his garrulous habit of incessant conversation slightly hampered by a difficulty in adjusting his false teeth in such a way as to make what he said intelligible in his pronunciation. His memories of past inhabitants of the neighbourhood seemed to be unlimited. It was difficult, on the whole, to know how reliable they might be. Mr Bodlicott was not one to shirk giving himself the pleasure of retailing some really good story of past days. These flights of fancy, claimed usually as flights of memory, were usually ushered in with the same type of statement.
'You'd be surprised, you would, if I could tell you what I knew about that one. Yes indeed. Well, you know, everybody thought they knew all about it, but they were wrong. Absolutely wrong. It was the elder sister, you know. Yes, it was. Such a nice girl she seemed. It was the butcher's dog that gave them all the clue. Followed her home, he did. Yes. Only it wasn't her own home, as you might say. Ah well, I could tell you a lot more about that. Then there was old Mrs Atkins. Nobody knew as she kept a revolver in the house, but I knew. I knew when I was sent for to mend her tallboy - that's what they call those high chests, isn't it? Yes. Tallboys. Well, that's right. Well, there
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