Free The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie Page B

house?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou mean, you’ll take me away from here?”
    â€œYes, my dear.”
    Suddenly she began to shake all over. It was frightening and very moving.
    â€œOh, do take me away! Please do. It’s so awful, being here, and feeling so wicked.”
    I came over to her and her hands fastened on my coat sleeve.
    â€œI’m an awful coward. I didn’t know what a coward I was.”
    â€œIt’s all right, funny face,” I said. “These things are a bit shattering. Come along.”
    â€œCan we go at once? Without waiting a minute?”
    â€œWell, you’ll have to put a few things together, I suppose.”
    â€œWhat sort of things? Why?”
    â€œMy dear girl,” I said. “We can provide you with a bed and a bath and the rest of it, but I’m damned if I lend you my toothbrush.”
    She gave a very faint weak little laugh.
    â€œI see. I think I’m stupid today. You mustn’t mind. I’ll go and pack some things. You—you won’t go away? You’ll wait for me?”
    â€œI’ll be on the mat.”
    â€œThank you. Thank you very much. I’m sorry I’m so stupid. But you see it’s rather dreadful when your mother dies.”
    â€œI know,” I said.
    I gave her a friendly pat on the back and she flashed me a grateful look and disappeared into a bedroom. I went on downstairs.
    â€œI found Megan,” I said. “She’s coming.”
    â€œOh now, that is a good thing,” exclaimed Elsie Holland. “It will take her out of herself. She’s rather a nervy girl, you know. Difficult. It will be a great relief to feel I haven’t got her on my mind as well as everything else. It’s very kind of you, Miss Burton. I hope she won’t be a nuisance. Oh dear, there’s the telephone. I must go and answer it. Mr. Symmington isn’t fit.”
    She hurried out of the room. Joanna said:
    â€œQuite the ministering angel!”
    â€œYou said that rather nastily,” I observed. “She’s a nice kind girl, and obviously most capable.”
    â€œMost. And she knows it.”
    â€œThis is unworthy of you, Joanna,” I said.
    â€œMeaning why shouldn’t the girl do her stuff?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œI never can stand seeing people pleased with themselves,” said Joanna. “It arouses all my worst instincts. How did you find Megan?”
    â€œCrouching in a darkened room looking rather like a stricken gazelle.”
    â€œPoor kid. She was quite willing to come?”
    â€œShe leapt at it.”
    A series of thuds out in the hall announced the descent of Megan and her suitcase. I went out and took it from her. Joanna, behind me, said urgently:
    â€œCome on. I’ve already refused some nice hot tea twice.”
    We went out to the car. It annoyed me that Joanna had to sling the suitcase in. I could get along with one stick now, but I couldn’t do any athletic feats.
    â€œGet in,” I said to Megan.
    She got in. I followed her. Joanna started the car and we drove off.
    We got to Little Furze and went into the drawing room.
    Megan dropped into a chair and burst into tears. She cried with the hearty fervour of a child—bawled, I think, is the right word. I left the room in search of a remedy. Joanna stood by feeling rather helpless, I think.
    Presently I heard Megan say in a thick choked voice:
    â€œI’m sorry for doing this. It seems idiotic.”
    Joanna said kindly, “Not at all. Have another handkerchief.”
    I gather she supplied the necessary article. I reentered the room and handed Megan a brimming glass.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œA cocktail,” I said.
    â€œIs it? Is it really?” Megan’s tears were instantly dried. “I’ve never drunk a cocktail.”
    â€œEverything has to have a beginning,” I said.
    Megan sipped her drink gingerly, then a beaming smile spread over her