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Authors: Agatha Christie
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what's the matter with her. She seems in the wildest spirits.'
That word-fey! It sent a shiver through me. Also, something in the intonation of her voice had set me wondering.
'Are you Scotch, Miss Buckley?' I asked, abruptly. 'My mother was Scottish,' she explained.
She viewed me, I noticed, with more approval than she viewed Poirot. I felt that my statement of the case would carry more weight with her than Poirot's would.
'Your cousin is behaving with great bravery,' I said. 'She's determined to carry on as usual.'
'It's the only way, isn't it?' said Maggie. 'I mean-whatever one's inward feelings are-it is no good making a fuss about them. That's only uncomfortable for everyone else.' She paused and then added in a soft voice: 'I'm very fond of Nick. She's been good to me always.'
We could say nothing more for at that moment Frederica Rice drifted into the room. She was wearing a gown of Madonna blue and looked very fragile and ethereal. Lazarus soon followed her and then Nick danced in. She was wearing a black frock, and round her was wrapped a marvellous old Chinese shawl of vivid lacquer red.
'Hello, people,' she said. 'Cocktails?'
We all drank, and Lazarus raised his glass to her.
'That's a marvellous shawl, Nick,' he said. 'It's an old one, isn't it?'
'Yes-brought back by Great-Great-Great-Uncle Timothy from his travels.'
'It's a beauty-a real beauty. You wouldn't find another to match it if you tried.'
'It's warm,' said Nick. 'It'll be nice when we're watching the fireworks. And it's gay. I-I hate black.'
'Yes,' said Frederica. 'I don't believe I've ever seen you in a black dress before, Nick. Why did you get it?'
'Oh! I don't know.' The girl flung aside with a petulant gesture, but I had caught a curious curl of her lips as though of pain. 'Why does one do anything?'
We went in to dinner. A mysterious manservant had appeared-hired, I presume, for the occasion. The food was indifferent. The champagne, on the other hand, was good.
'George hasn't turned up,' said Nick. 'A nuisance his having to go back to Plymouth last night. He'll get over this evening sometime or other, I expect. In time for the dance anyway. I've got a man for Maggie. Presentable, if not passionately interesting.'
A faint roaring sound drifted in through the window.
'Oh! curse that speedboat,' said Lazarus. 'I get so tired of it.'
'That's not the speedboat,' said Nick. 'That's a sea-plane.'
'I believe you're right.'
'Of course I'm right. The sound's quite different.'
'When are you going to get your Moth, Nick?'
'When I can raise the money,' laughed Nick.
'And then, I suppose you'll be off to Australia like that girl-what's her name?'
'I'd love to-'
'I admire her enormously,' said Mrs Rice, in her tired voice. 'What marvellous nerve! All by herself too.'
'I admire all these flying people,' said Lazarus. 'If Michael Seton had succeeded in his flight round the world he'd have been the hero of the day-and rightly so. A thousand pities he's come to grief. He's the kind of man England can't afford to lose.'
'He may still be all right,' said Nick.
'Hardly. It's a thousand to one against by now. Poor Mad Seton.' 'They always called him Mad Seton, didn't they?' asked Frederica. Lazarus nodded.
'He comes of rather a mad family,' he said. 'His uncle, Sir Matthew Seton, who died about a week ago-he was as mad as a hatter.'
'He was the mad millionaire who ran bird sanctuaries, wasn't he?' asked Frederica.
'Yes. Used to buy up islands. He was a great woman-hater. Some girl chucked him once, I believe, and he took to Natural History by way of consoling himself.'
'Why do you say Michael Seton is dead?' persisted Nick. 'I don't see any reason for giving up hope-yet.'
'Of course, you knew him, didn't you?' said Lazarus. 'I forgot.'
'Freddie and I met him at Le Touquet last year,' said Nick. 'He was too marvellous, wasn't he, Freddie?'
'Don't ask me, darling. He was your conquest, not mine. He took you up once, didn't he?'
'Yes-at
That word-fey! It sent a shiver through me. Also, something in the intonation of her voice had set me wondering.
'Are you Scotch, Miss Buckley?' I asked, abruptly. 'My mother was Scottish,' she explained.
She viewed me, I noticed, with more approval than she viewed Poirot. I felt that my statement of the case would carry more weight with her than Poirot's would.
'Your cousin is behaving with great bravery,' I said. 'She's determined to carry on as usual.'
'It's the only way, isn't it?' said Maggie. 'I mean-whatever one's inward feelings are-it is no good making a fuss about them. That's only uncomfortable for everyone else.' She paused and then added in a soft voice: 'I'm very fond of Nick. She's been good to me always.'
We could say nothing more for at that moment Frederica Rice drifted into the room. She was wearing a gown of Madonna blue and looked very fragile and ethereal. Lazarus soon followed her and then Nick danced in. She was wearing a black frock, and round her was wrapped a marvellous old Chinese shawl of vivid lacquer red.
'Hello, people,' she said. 'Cocktails?'
We all drank, and Lazarus raised his glass to her.
'That's a marvellous shawl, Nick,' he said. 'It's an old one, isn't it?'
'Yes-brought back by Great-Great-Great-Uncle Timothy from his travels.'
'It's a beauty-a real beauty. You wouldn't find another to match it if you tried.'
'It's warm,' said Nick. 'It'll be nice when we're watching the fireworks. And it's gay. I-I hate black.'
'Yes,' said Frederica. 'I don't believe I've ever seen you in a black dress before, Nick. Why did you get it?'
'Oh! I don't know.' The girl flung aside with a petulant gesture, but I had caught a curious curl of her lips as though of pain. 'Why does one do anything?'
We went in to dinner. A mysterious manservant had appeared-hired, I presume, for the occasion. The food was indifferent. The champagne, on the other hand, was good.
'George hasn't turned up,' said Nick. 'A nuisance his having to go back to Plymouth last night. He'll get over this evening sometime or other, I expect. In time for the dance anyway. I've got a man for Maggie. Presentable, if not passionately interesting.'
A faint roaring sound drifted in through the window.
'Oh! curse that speedboat,' said Lazarus. 'I get so tired of it.'
'That's not the speedboat,' said Nick. 'That's a sea-plane.'
'I believe you're right.'
'Of course I'm right. The sound's quite different.'
'When are you going to get your Moth, Nick?'
'When I can raise the money,' laughed Nick.
'And then, I suppose you'll be off to Australia like that girl-what's her name?'
'I'd love to-'
'I admire her enormously,' said Mrs Rice, in her tired voice. 'What marvellous nerve! All by herself too.'
'I admire all these flying people,' said Lazarus. 'If Michael Seton had succeeded in his flight round the world he'd have been the hero of the day-and rightly so. A thousand pities he's come to grief. He's the kind of man England can't afford to lose.'
'He may still be all right,' said Nick.
'Hardly. It's a thousand to one against by now. Poor Mad Seton.' 'They always called him Mad Seton, didn't they?' asked Frederica. Lazarus nodded.
'He comes of rather a mad family,' he said. 'His uncle, Sir Matthew Seton, who died about a week ago-he was as mad as a hatter.'
'He was the mad millionaire who ran bird sanctuaries, wasn't he?' asked Frederica.
'Yes. Used to buy up islands. He was a great woman-hater. Some girl chucked him once, I believe, and he took to Natural History by way of consoling himself.'
'Why do you say Michael Seton is dead?' persisted Nick. 'I don't see any reason for giving up hope-yet.'
'Of course, you knew him, didn't you?' said Lazarus. 'I forgot.'
'Freddie and I met him at Le Touquet last year,' said Nick. 'He was too marvellous, wasn't he, Freddie?'
'Don't ask me, darling. He was your conquest, not mine. He took you up once, didn't he?'
'Yes-at
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