Free Ordeal by Innocence by Agatha Christie Page B

of looking at it. But there is such a thing as justice, you know, Mr. Clegg.”
    “I've always understood,” said Clegg, “that an English trial was as fair a thing as can be.”
    “The finest system in the world can make a mistake,” said Calgary. “Justice is, after all, in the hands of men, and men are fallible.”
    After he had left them and was walking down the street he felt more disturbed in his own mind than he could have thought possible. Would it really have been better, he said to himself, if my memory of that day had never come back to me? After all, as that smug, tight-lipped fellow has just said, the boy is dead. He's gone before a judge who makes no mistake. Whether he's remembered as a murderer or merely as a petty thief, it can make no difference to him now.
    Then a sudden wave of anger rose in him. 'But it ought to make a difference to someone,' he thought. 'Someone ought to be glad. Why aren't they? This girl, well, I can understand it well enough. She may have had an infatuation for Jacko, but she never loved him. Probably isn't capable of loving anybody. But the others. His father. His sister, his nurse... They should have been glad. They should have spared a thought for him before they began to fear for themselves Yes. - someone should have cared.'
    “Miss Argyle? At the second desk there.” Calgary stood for a moment watching her.
    Neat, small, very quiet and efficient. She was wearing a dark blue dress, with white collar and cuffs. Her blue-black hair was coiled neatly in her neck Her skin was dark, darker than an English skin could ever be. Her bones, too, were smaller. This was the half-caste child that Mrs. Argyle had taken as a daughter into the family.
    The eyes that looked up and met his were dark, quite opaque. They were eyes that told you nothing. Her voice was low and sympathetic. “Can I help you?”
    “You are Miss Argyle? Miss Christina Argyle?”
    “Yes.”
    “My name is Calgary, Arthur Calgary. You may have heard -”
    “Yes. I have heard about you. My father wrote to me.”
    “I would like very much to talk to you.”
    She glanced up at the clock.
    “The library closes in half an hour. If you could wait until then?”
    “Certainly. Perhaps you would come and have a cup of tea with me somewhere?”
    “Thank you.” She turned from him to a man who had come up behind him. “Yes. Can I help you?”
    Arthur Calgary moved away. He wandered round, examining the contents of the shelves, observant all the time of Tina Argyle. She remained the same, calm, competent, unperturbed. The half hour passed slowly for him, but at last a bell rang and she nodded to him.
    “I will meet you outside in a few minutes' time.”
    She did not keep him waiting. She wore no hat, merely a thick dark coat. He asked her where they should go.
    “I do not know Redmyn very well,” he explained.
    “There is a tea place near the Cathedral. It is not good, but for that reason it is less full than the others.”
    Presently they were established at a small table, and a desiccated bored waitress had taken their order with a complete lack of enthusiasm.
    “It will not be a good tea,” said Tina apologetically, “but I thought that perhaps you would like to be reasonably private.”
    “That is so. I must explain my reasons for seeking you out. You see, I have met the other members of your family, including, I may say, your brother Jacko's wife - widow. You were the only member of the family I had not met. Oh yes, and there is your married sister, of course.”
    “You feel it necessary to meet us all?”
    It was said quite politely - but there was a certain detachment about her voice which made Calgary a little uncomfortable.
    “Hardly as a social necessity,” he agreed dryly. “And it is not mere curiosity.” (But wasn't it?) “It is just that I wanted to express, personally, to all of you, my very deep regret that I failed to establish your brother's innocence at the time of the trial.”
    “I