By the Pricking of My Thumbs (Tommy & Tuppence 4)

He smiled to himself. ',l II

The faithful Albert opened the front door with a beaming smile of welcome.

'Glad to see you back, sir.' 'I'm glad to be back -' Tommy surrendered his suitcase - 'Where's Mrs Beresford?' 'Not back yet, sir.' 'Do you mean she's away?' 'Been away three or four days. But she'll be back for dinner.

She rang up yesterday and said so.' 'What's she up to, Albert?' 'I couldn't say, sir. She took the car, but she took a lot of railway guides as well. She might be anywhere, as you might say.' 'You might indeed,' said Tommy with feeling. 'John o' Groat's - or Land's End - and probably missed the connection at Little Dither on the Marsh on the way back. God bless British Railways. She rang up yesterday, you say. Did she say where she was ringing from?' 'She didn't say.' 'What time yesterday was this?' 'Yesterday morning. Before lunch. Just said everything was all fight. She wasn't quite sure of what time she'd get home, but she thought she'd be back well before dinner and suggested a chicken. That do you all fight, sir?' 'Yes,' said Tommy, regarding his watch, 'but she'll have to make it pretty quickly now.' 'I'll hold the chicken back,' said Albert.

Tommy grinned. 'That's fight,' he said. 'Catch it by the tail.

How'ye you been, Albert? All well at home?' 'Had a scare of measles - But it's all fight. Doctor says it's only strawberry rash.' 'Good,' said Tommy. He went upstairs, whistling a tune to himself. He went into the bathroom, shaved and washed, strode from there into the bedroom and looked around him. It had that curious look of disoccupancy some bedrooms put on when their owner is away. Its atmosphere was cold and unfriendly. Everything was scrupulously tidy and scrupulously clean. Tommy had the depressed feeling that a faithful dog might have had. Looking round him, he thought it was as though Tuppence had never been. No spilled powder, no book cast down open with its back splayed out.

'Sir.' It was Albert, standing in the doorway.

'Well?' 'I'm getting worried about the chicken.' 'Oh damn the chicken,' said Tommy. 'You seem to have that chicken on your nerves.' 'Well, I took it as you and she wouldn't be later than eight.

Not later than eight, sitting down, I mean.' 'I should have thought so, too,' said Tommy, glancing at his wrist watch. 'Good Lord, is it nearly five and twenty to nine?' 'Yes it is, sir. And the chicken ' 'Oh, come on,' said Tommy, 'you get that chicken out of the oven and you and I'll eat it between us. Serve Tuppence right.

Getting back well before dinner indeed!' 'Of course some people do eat dinner late,' said Albert. 'I went to Spain once and believe me, you couldn't get a meal before ten o'clock. Ten p.m. I ask you! Heathens?

'All right,' said Tommy, absentmindedly. 'By the way, have you no idea where she has been all this time?' 'You mean the missus? I dunno, sir. Rushing around, I'd say. Her first idea was going to places by train, as far as I can make out. She was always looking in A.B.C.s and timetables and things.' 'Well,' said Tommy, 'we all have our ways of amusing ourselves, I suppose. Hers seems to have been railway travel. I wonder where she is all the same. Sitting in the Ladies' Waiting Room at Little Dither on the Marsh, as likely as not.' 'She knew as you was coming home today though, didn't she, sir?' said Albert. 'She'll get here somehow. Sure to.' Tommy perceived that he was being offered loyal allegiance.

He and Albert were linked together in expressing disapprobation of a Tuppence who in the course of her flirtations with

British Railways was neglecting to come home in time to give a returning husband his proper welcome.

Albert went away to release the chicken from its possible fate of cremation in the oven.

Tommy who had been about to follow him, stopped and looked towards the mantelpiece. He walked slowly to it and looked at the picture that hung there. Funny, her being so sure that she had seen that particular house before. Tommy felt quite certain that he hadn't seen it. Anyway, it was quite an ordinary house. There must be plenty of houses like that.

He stretched up as far as he could towards it and then, still not able to get a good view, unhooked it and took it close to the electric lamp. A quiet, gentle house. There was the artist's signature. The name began with a B though he couldn't make out exactly what the name was. Bosworth - Bouchier - He'd get a magnifying glass and look at k more closely. A merry chime of cowbells came from the hall. Albert had highly approved of the Swiss cowbells that Tommy and Tuppence had brought back some time or other from Grindelwald. He was something of a virtuoso on them. Dinner was served.

Tommy went to the dining-room. It was odd, he thought, that Tuppence hadn't turned up by now. Even if she had had a puncture, which seemed probable, he rather wondered that she hadn't rung up to explain or excuse her delay.

'She might know that I'd worry,' said Tommy to himself.

Not, of come, that he ever did worry - not about Tuppence.

Tuppence was always all right. Albert contradicted this mood.

'Hope she hasn't had an accident,' he remarked, presenting Tommy with a dish of cabbage, and shaking his head gloomily.

'Take that away. You know I hate cabbage,' said Tommy.

'Why should she have had an accident? It's only half past nine flow.

'Being on the road is plain murder nowadays,' said Albert.

'Anyone might have an accident.'

The telephone bell rang. 'That's her,' said Albert. Hastily reposing the dish of cabbage on the sideboard, he hurried out of the room. Tommy rose, abandoning his plate of chicken, and followed Albert. He was just saying 'Here, I'll take it,' when Albert spoke.

'Yes, sir? Yes, Mr Bcrcsford is at home, Here he is now.' He turned his head to Tommy. 'It's a Dr Murray for you, sir.' 'Dr Murray?' Tommy thought for a moment. The name seemed familiar but for the moment be couldn't remember who Dr Murray was. If Tuppence had had an accident - and then with a sigh of relief he remembered that Dr Murray had been the doctor who attended the old ladies at Sunny Ridge.

Something, perhaps, to do with Aunt Ada's funeral forms.

True child of his time, Tommy immediately assumed that it must be a question of some form or other - something he ought to have signed, or Dr Murray ought to have signed.

'Hullo,' he said, 'Beresford here.' 'Oh, I'm glad to catch you. You remember me, I hope. I attended your aunt, Miss Fanshawe.' 'Yes, of course I remember. What can I do?' 'I really wanted to have a word or two with you sometime. I don't know if we can arrange a meeting, perhaps in town one day?' 'Oh I expect so, yes. Quite easily. But - er - is it something you can't say over the phone?' 'I'd rather not say it over the telephone. There's no immediate hurry. I won't pretend there is but - but I should like to have a chat with you.' 'Nothing wrong?' said Tommy, and wondered why he put it that way. Why should there be anything wrong?

'Not really. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill.

Probably am. But there have been some rather curious developments at Sunny Ridge.' 'Nothing to do with Mrs Lancaster, is it?' asked Tommy.

'Mrs Lancaster?' The doctor seemed surprised. 'Oh no. She left some time ago. In fact - before your aunt died. This is something quite different.' 'I've been away - only just got back. May I ring you up tomorrow morning - w

e could fix something then.' 'Right. I'll give you my telephone number. I shall be at my surgery until ten a.m.'

'Bad news?' asked Albert as Tommy returned to the d'ming-

'For God's sake, don't croak, Albert,' said Tommy irritably.

'No - of course it isn't bad news.' 'I thought perhaps the missus -' 'She's all right,' said Tommy. 'She always is. Probably gone hating off after some wild-cat clue or other - You know what she's like. I'm not going to worry any more. Take away this plate of chicken - You've been keeping it hot in the oven and it's inedible. Bring me some coffee. And then I'm going to bed.

'There will probably be a letter tomorrow. Delayed in the post - you know what our posts are like - or there will be a wire from her - or she'll ring up.' But there was no letter next day - no telephone call - no wire.

Albert eyed Tommy, opened his mouth and shut it again several 6mes, judging quite rightly that gloomy predictions on his part would not be welcomed.