Read Online Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B

weapon as a man’s - more so.”
    Mr. Satterthwaite was silent. Sir Charles said:
    “Come now, don’t you agree? Or are you on the side of public opinion? ‘The butler’s the man. He done it.’”
    “What’s your explanation of the butler?”
    “I haven’t thought about him. In my view he doesn’t matter ... I could suggest an explanation.”
    “Such as?”
    “Well, say that the police are right so far - Ellis is a professional criminal, working in, shall we say, with a gang of burglars. Ellis obtains this post with false credentials. Then Tollie is murdered. What is Ellis’s position? A man is killed, and in the house is a man whose finger-prints are at Scotland Yard, and who is known to the police. Naturally he gets the wind up and bolts.”
    “By the secret passage?”
    “Secret passage be damned. He dodged out of the house while one of the fat-headed constables who were watching the house was taking forty winks.”
    “It certainly seems more probable.”
    “Well, Satterthwaite, what’s your view?”
    “Mine?” said Mr. Satterthwaite. “Oh, it’s the same as yours. It has been all along. The butler seems to me a very clumsy red herring. I believe that Sir. Bartholomew and poor old Babbington were killed by the same person.”
    “One of the house-party?”
    “One of the house-party.”
    There was silence for a minute or two, and then Mr. Satterthwaite asked casually:
    “Which of them do you think it was?”
    “My God, Satterthwaite, how can I tell?”
    “You can’t tell, of course,” said Mr. Satterthwaite mildly. “I just thought you might have some idea - you know, nothing scientific or reasoned. Just an ordinary guess.”
    “Well, I haven’t ... ” he thought for a minute and then burst out: “You know, Satterthwaite, the moment you begin to think it seems impossible that any of them did it.”
    “I suppose your theory is right,” mused Mr. Satterthwaite. “As to the assembling of the suspects, I mean. We’ve got to take it into account that there were certain definite exclusions. Yourself and myself and Mrs. Babbington, for instance. Young Manders, too, he was out of it.”
    “Manders?”
    “Yes, his arrival on the scene was an accident. He wasn’t asked or expected. That lets him out of the circle of suspects.”
    “The dramatist woman, too - Anthony Astor.”
    “No, no, she was there. Miss Muriel Wills of Tooting.”
    “So she was - I’d forgotten the woman’s name was Wills.”
    He frowned. Mr. Satterthwaite was fairly good at reading people’s thoughts. He estimated with fair accuracy what was passing through the actor’s mind. When the other spoke, Mr. Satterthwaite mentally patted himself on that back.
    “You know, Satterthwaite, you’re right. I don’t think it was definitely suspected people that he asked - because, after all, Lady Mary and Egg were there ... No, he wanted to stage some reproduction of the first business, perhaps ... He suspected someone, but he wanted other eyewitnesses there to confirm matters. Something of that kind ... ”
    “Something of the kind,” agreed Mr. Satterthwaite. “One can only generalise at this stage. Very well, the Lytton Gores are out of it, you and I and Mrs. Babbington and Oliver Manders are out of it. Who is left? Angela Sutcliffe?”
    “Angie? My dear fellow. She’s been a friend of Tollie’s for years.”
    “Then it boils down to the Dacres ... In fact, Cartwright, you suspect the Dacres. You might just as well have said so when I asked you.”
    Sir Charles looked at him. Mr. Satterthwaite had a mildly triumphant air.
    “I suppose,” said Cartwright slowly, “that I do. At least, I don’t suspect them ... They just seem rather more possible than anyone else. I don’t know them very well, for one thing. But for the life of me, I can’t see why Freddie Dacres, who spends his life on the race course, or Cynthia, who spends her time designing fabulously expensive clothes for women, should have any desire to