Free The Clocks by Agatha Christie Page A

Waterhouse was not looking at him and clearly had no idea that he had been that particular young man in question.
    â€œI could only see the back of the young man’s head. He seemed to be arguing with the girl. Finally he sat her down against the gatepost. An extraordinary thing to do. And he strode off and went into the house.”
    â€œYou had not seen Miss Pebmarsh return to the house a short time before?”
    Miss Waterhouse shook her head. “No. I don’t really think I had looked out the window at all until I heard this extraordinary screaming. However, I didn’t pay much attention to all this. Young girls and men are always doing such extraordinary things—screaming, pushing each other, giggling or making some kind of noise—that I had no idea it was anything serious. Not until some cars drove up with policemen did I realize anything out of the ordinary had occurred.”
    â€œWhat did you do then?”
    â€œWell, naturally I went out of the house, stood on the steps and then I walked round to the back garden. I wondered what had happened but there didn’t seem to be anything much to see from that side. When I got back again there was quite a little crowd gathering. Somebody told me there’d been a murder in the house. It seemed to me most extraordinary. Most extraordinary!” said Miss Waterhouse with a great deal of disapproval.
    â€œThere is nothing else you can think of? That you can tell us?”
    â€œReally, I’m afraid not.”
    â€œHas anybody recently written to you suggesting insurance, or has anybody called upon you or proposed calling upon you?”
    â€œNo. Nothing of the kind. Both James and I have taken out insurance policies with the Mutual Help Assurance Society. Of course one is always getting letters which are really circulars or advertisements of some kind but I don’t recall anything of that kind recently.”
    â€œNo letters signed by anybody called Curry?”
    â€œCurry? No, certainly not.”
    â€œAnd the name of Curry means nothing to you in any way?”
    â€œNo. Should it?”
    Hardcastle smiled. “No. I really don’t think it should,” he said. “It just happens to be the name that the man who was murdered was calling himself by.”
    â€œIt wasn’t his real name?”
    â€œWe have some reason to think that it was not his real name.”
    â€œA swindler of some kind, eh?” said Miss Waterhouse.
    â€œWe can’t say that till we have evidence to prove it.”
    â€œOf course not, of course not. You’ve got to be careful. I know that,” said Miss Waterhouse. “Not like some of the people aroundhere. They’d say anything. I wonder some aren’t had up for libel all the time.”
    â€œSlander,” corrected Sergeant Lamb, speaking for the first time.
    Miss Waterhouse looked at him in some surprise, as though not aware before that he had an entity of his own and was anything other than a necessary appendage to Inspector Hardcastle.
    â€œI’m sorry I can’t help you, I really am,” said Miss Waterhouse.
    â€œI’m sorry too,” said Hardcastle. “A person of your intelligence and judgement with a faculty of observation would have been a very useful witness to have.”
    â€œI wish I had seen something,” said Miss Waterhouse.
    For a moment her tone was as wistful as a young girl’s.
    â€œYour brother, Mr. James Waterhouse?”
    â€œJames wouldn’t know anything,” said Miss Waterhouse scornfully. “He never does. And anyway he was at Gainsford and Swettenhams in the High Street. Oh no, James wouldn’t be able to help you. As I say, he doesn’t come back to lunch.”
    â€œWhere does he lunch usually?”
    â€œHe usually has sandwiches and coffee at the Three Feathers. A very nice respectable house. They specialize in quick lunches for professional people.”
    â€œThank you,