At Bertram's Hotel by Agatha Christie Page A

her own fixed views about the telephone. She used it and recognized its convenience but she was not fond of the telephone. Some of her household shopping was done by telephone, though she much preferred to do it in person owing to a fixed belief that if you did not see what you were being given, a shopkeeper was sure to try and cheat you. Still, telephones were useful for domestic matters. She occasionally, though rarely, telephoned her friends or relations in the near neighbourhood. To make a call of any distance, or a London call, upset her severely. It was a shameful waste of money. Nevertheless, she began to meditate facing that problem.
    Finally, when yet another day dawned without any news of him she decided to act. She knew where the canon was staying in London. Bertram's Hotel. A nice old-fashioned place. It might be as well, perhaps, if she rang up and made certain inquiries. They would probably know where the canon was. It was not an ordinary hotel. She would ask to be put through to Miss Gorringe. Miss Gorringe was always efficient and thoughtful. The canon might, of course, return by the twelve-thirty. If so he would be here any minute now.
    But the minutes passed and there was no canon. Mrs McCrae took a deep breath, nerved herself and asked for a call to London. She waited, biting her lips and holding the receiver clamped firmly to her ear.
    “Bertram's Hotel, at your service,” said the voice.
    “I would like, if you please, to speak to Miss Gorringe,” said Mrs McCrae.
    “Just a moment. What name shall I say?”
    “It's Canon Pennyfather's housekeeper. Mrs McCrae.”
    “Just a moment please.”
    Presently the calm and efficient voice of Miss Gorringe came through. “Miss Gorringe here. Did you say Canon Pennyfather's housekeeper?”
    “That's right. Mrs McCrae.”
    “Oh yes. Of course. What can I do for you, Mrs McCrae?”
    “Is Canon Pennyfather staying at the hotel still?”
    “I'm glad you've rung up,” said Miss Gorringe. “We have been rather worried as to what exactly to do.”
    “Do you mean something's happened to Canon Pennyfather? Has he had an accident?”
    “No, no, nothing of that kind. But we expected him back from Lucerne on Friday or Saturday.”
    “Eh - that'd be right.”
    “But he didn't arrive. Well, of course that wasn't really surprising. He had booked his room on - booked it, that is, until yesterday. He didn't come back yesterday or send any word and his things are still here. The major part of his baggage. We hadn't been quite sure what to do about it. Of course,” Miss Gorringe went on hastily, “we know the canon is, well - somewhat forgetful sometimes.”
    “You may well say that!”
    “It makes it a little difficult for us. We are so fully booked up. His room is actually booked for another guest.” She added, “You have no idea where he is?”
    With bitterness Mrs McCrae said, “The man might be anywhere!” She pulled herself together. “Well, thank you, Miss Gorringe.”
    “Anything I can do -” Miss Gorringe suggested helpfully.
    “I daresay I'll hear soon enough,” said Mrs McCrae. She thanked Miss Gorringe again and rang off.
    She sat by the telephone, looking upset. She did not fear for the canon's personal safety. If he had had an accident, she would by now have been notified. She felt sure of that. On the whole the canon was not what one would call accident prone. He was what Mrs McCrae called to herself “one of the scatty ones,” and the scatty ones seemed always to be looked after by a special providence. While taking no care or thought, they could still survive even a Panda crossing. No, she did not visualize Canon Pennyfather as lying groaning in a hospital. He was somewhere, no doubt innocently and happily prattling with some friend or other. Maybe he was abroad still. The difficulty was that Archdeacon Simmons was arriving this evening and Archdeacon Simmons would expect to find a host to receive him. She couldn't put Archdeacon Simmons