Free Unexpected Guest by Agatha Christie Page A

Inspector Thomas sat on the sofa. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said amiably to Jan, ‘that you’ve ever been in close contact with a murder before, have you?’
    â€˜No, no, I haven’t,’ Jan replied eagerly. ‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it?’ He knelt on the footstool. ‘Have you got any clues–fingerprints or bloodstains or anything?’
    â€˜You seem very interested in blood,’ the inspector observed with a friendly smile.
    â€˜Oh, I am,’ Jan replied, quietly and seriously. ‘I like blood. It’s a beautiful colour, isn’t it? That nice clear red.’ He too sat down on the sofa, laughing nervously. ‘Richard shot things, you know, and then they used to bleed. It’s really very funny, isn’t it? I mean it’s funny that Richard, who was always shooting things, should have been shot himself. Don’t you think that’s funny?’
    The inspector’s voice was quiet, his inflection ratherdry, as he replied, ‘I suppose it has its humorous side.’ He paused. ‘Are you very upset that your brother–your half-brother, I mean–is dead?’
    â€˜Upset?’ Jan sounded surprised. ‘That Richard is dead? No, why should I be?’
    â€˜Well, I thought perhaps you were–very fond of him,’ the inspector suggested.
    â€˜Fond of him!’ exclaimed Jan in what sounded like genuine astonishment. ‘Fond of Richard? Oh, no, nobody could be fond of Richard.’
    â€˜I suppose his wife was fond of him, though,’ the inspector urged.
    A look of surprise passed across Jan’s face. ‘Laura?’ he exclaimed. ‘No, I don’t think so. She was always on my side.’
    â€˜On your side?’ the inspector asked. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
    Jan suddenly looked scared. ‘Yes. Yes,’ he almost shouted, hurriedly. ‘When Richard wanted to have me sent away.’
    â€˜Sent away?’ the inspector prompted him gently.
    â€˜To one of those places,’ the youngster explained. ‘You know, where they send you, and you’re locked up, and you can’t get out. He said Laura would come and see me, perhaps, sometimes.’ Jan shook a little, then rose, backed away from the inspector, and looked across at Sergeant Cadwallader. ‘I wouldn’t like to belocked up,’ he continued, his voice now tremulous. ‘I’d hate to be locked up.’
    He stood at the french windows, looking out onto the terrace. ‘I like things open, always,’ he called out to them. ‘I like my window open, and my door, so that I can be sure I can get out.’ He turned back into the room. ‘But nobody can lock me up now , can they?’
    â€˜No, lad,’ the inspector assured him. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’
    â€˜Not now that Richard’s dead,’ Jan added. Momentarily, he sounded almost smug.
    The inspector got up and moved round the sofa. ‘So Richard wanted you locked up?’ he asked.
    â€˜Laura says he only said it to tease me,’ Jan told him. ‘She said that was all it was, and she said it was all right, and that as long as she was here she’d make quite sure that I would never be locked up.’ He went to perch on one arm of the armchair. ‘I love Laura,’ he continued, speaking with a nervous excitement. ‘I love Laura a terrible lot. We have wonderful times together, you know. We look for butterflies and birds’ eggs, and we play games together. Bezique. Do you know that game? It’s a clever one. And Beggar-my-neighbour. Oh, it’s great fun doing things with Laura.’
    The inspector went across to lean on the other arm of the chair. His voice had a kindly tone to it as heasked, ‘I don’t suppose you remember anything about this accident that happened when you were living in Norfolk, do you? When a little boy got run over?’
    â€˜Oh,