Read Online The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
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Train is nearly always all booked up.”
“See if there is a berth left,” said Derek.
“If there is not -” He left the sentence unfinished with a curious smile on his face.
The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. “That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name?”
“Pavett,” said Derek. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street.
The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Derek good morning politely, and turned his attention to the next client.
“I want to go to Nice - on the 14th. Isn't there a train called the Blue Train?”
Derek looked round sharply.
Coincidence - a strange coincidence. He remembered his own half-whimsical words to Mirelle, “Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. I don't suppose I shall ever see her again.” But he had seen her again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the same day as he did.
Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was superstitious. He had said, half-laughingly, that this woman might bring him bad luck. Suppose - suppose that should prove to be true. From the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk. For once his memory had not played him false. A lady - a lady in every sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with something - grey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He had a sense of fatality.
He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man.
“Take this cheque, Pavett, cash it first thing in the morning, and go around to Cook's in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back.”
“Very good, sir.”
Pavett withdrew.
Derek strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment.
The tone of the demands was still polite.
Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change if - if certain news became public property.
He flung himself moodily into a large leather-covered chair. A damned hole - that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole!
And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising.
Pavett appeared with a discreet cough.
“A gentleman to see you - sir - Major Knighton.”
“Knighton, eh?”
Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself:
“Knighton - I wonder what is in the wind now?”
“Shall I - er - show him in, sir?”
His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him.
“Very good of you to look me up,” said Derek.
Knighton was nervous.
The other's keen eyes noticed that at once.
The errand on which the secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost mechanically to Derek's easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink, and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before.
Derek appeared at last to notice it.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “what does my esteemed father-in-law want with me? You have come on his business, I take it?”
Knighton did not smile in reply.
“I have, yes,” he said carefully. “I - I wish Mr Van Aldin had chosen someone else.”
Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay.
“Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Knighton.”
“No,” said Knighton, “but this -”
He paused.
Derek eyed him keenly.
“Go on, out with it,” he said kindly. “I can imagine my dear father-in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones.”
Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment.
“I am directed by Mr Van Aldin to make you a definite offer.”
“An offer?” For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knighton's opening words were clearly not
“See if there is a berth left,” said Derek.
“If there is not -” He left the sentence unfinished with a curious smile on his face.
The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. “That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name?”
“Pavett,” said Derek. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street.
The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Derek good morning politely, and turned his attention to the next client.
“I want to go to Nice - on the 14th. Isn't there a train called the Blue Train?”
Derek looked round sharply.
Coincidence - a strange coincidence. He remembered his own half-whimsical words to Mirelle, “Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. I don't suppose I shall ever see her again.” But he had seen her again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the same day as he did.
Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was superstitious. He had said, half-laughingly, that this woman might bring him bad luck. Suppose - suppose that should prove to be true. From the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk. For once his memory had not played him false. A lady - a lady in every sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with something - grey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He had a sense of fatality.
He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man.
“Take this cheque, Pavett, cash it first thing in the morning, and go around to Cook's in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back.”
“Very good, sir.”
Pavett withdrew.
Derek strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment.
The tone of the demands was still polite.
Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change if - if certain news became public property.
He flung himself moodily into a large leather-covered chair. A damned hole - that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole!
And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising.
Pavett appeared with a discreet cough.
“A gentleman to see you - sir - Major Knighton.”
“Knighton, eh?”
Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself:
“Knighton - I wonder what is in the wind now?”
“Shall I - er - show him in, sir?”
His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him.
“Very good of you to look me up,” said Derek.
Knighton was nervous.
The other's keen eyes noticed that at once.
The errand on which the secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost mechanically to Derek's easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink, and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before.
Derek appeared at last to notice it.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “what does my esteemed father-in-law want with me? You have come on his business, I take it?”
Knighton did not smile in reply.
“I have, yes,” he said carefully. “I - I wish Mr Van Aldin had chosen someone else.”
Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay.
“Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Knighton.”
“No,” said Knighton, “but this -”
He paused.
Derek eyed him keenly.
“Go on, out with it,” he said kindly. “I can imagine my dear father-in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones.”
Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment.
“I am directed by Mr Van Aldin to make you a definite offer.”
“An offer?” For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knighton's opening words were clearly not
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