Read Online The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B

was really shocked—Mrs. Symmington was not, somehow, the sort of person you associated with tragedies.
    â€œYes, miss, it’s the truth. Did it deliberate. Not but what she was drove to it, poor soul.”
    â€œDrove to it?” Joanna had an inkling of the truth then. “Not—?”
    Her eyes questioned Partridge and Partridge nodded.
    â€œThat’s right, miss. One of them nasty letters!”
    â€œWhat did it say?”
    But that, to Partridge’s regret, she had not succeeded in learning.
    â€œThey’re beastly things,” said Joanna. “But I don’t see why they should make one want to kill oneself.”
    Partridge sniffed and then said with meaning:
    â€œNot unless they were true, miss.”
    â€œOh,” said Joanna.
    She drank her tea after Partridge had left the room, then she threw on a dressing-gown and came in to me to tell me the news.
    I thought of what Owen Griffith had said. Sooner or later the shot in the dark went home. It had done with Mrs. Symmington. She, apparently the most unlikely of women, had had a secret… It was true, I reflected, that for all her shrewdness she was not a woman of much stamina. She was the anaemic clinging type that crumples easily.
    Joanna nudged me and asked me what I was thinking about.
    I repeated to her what Owen had said.
    â€œOf course,” said Joanna waspishly, “he would know all about it. That man thinks he knows everything.”
    â€œHe’s clever,” I said.
    â€œHe’s conceited,” said Joanna. She added, “Abominably conceited!”
    After a minute or two she said:
    â€œHow awful for her husband—and for the girl. What do you think Megan will feel about it?”
    I hadn’t the slightest idea and said so. It was curious that one could never gauge what Megan would think or feel.
    Joanna nodded and said:
    â€œNo, one never does know with changelings.”
    After a minute or two she said:
    â€œDo you think—would you like—I wonder if she’d like tocome and stay with us for a day or two? It’s rather a shock for a girl that age.”
    â€œWe might go along and suggest it,” I agreed.
    â€œThe children are all right,” said Joanna. “They’ve got that governess woman. But I expect she’s just the sort of creature that would drive someone like Megan mad.”
    I thought that was very possible. I could imagine Elsie Holland uttering platitude after platitude and suggesting innumerable cups of tea. A kindly creature, but not, I thought, the person for a sensitive girl.
    I had thought myself of bringing Megan away, and I was glad that Joanna had thought of it spontaneously without prompting from me.
    We went down to the Symmingtons’ house after breakfast.
    We were a little nervous, both of us. Our arrival might look like sheer ghoulish curiosity. Luckily we met Owen Griffith just coming out through the gate. He looked worried and preoccupied.
    He greeted me, however, with some warmth.
    â€œOh, hallo, Burton. I’m glad to see you. What I was afraid would happen sooner or later has happened. A damnable business!”
    â€œGood morning, Dr. Griffith,” said Joanna, using the voice she keeps for one of our deafer aunts.
    Griffith started and flushed.
    â€œOh—oh, good morning, Miss Burton.”
    â€œI thought perhaps,” said Joanna, “that you didn’t see me.”
    Owen Griffith got redder still. His shyness enveloped him like a mantle.
    â€œI’m— I’m so sorry—preoccupied—I didn’t.”
    Joanna went on mercilessly: “After all, I am life size.”
    â€œMerely kit-kat,” I said in a stern aside to her. Then I went on:
    â€œMy sister and I, Griffith, wondered whether it would be a good thing if the girl came and stopped with us for a day or two? What do you think? I don’t want to butt in—but it must be rather grim for the poor child. What would