Endless Night by Agatha Christie Page A

somehow. Tell me, Greta, have they been very awful?” Ellie asked. “You haven’t written or said anything to me about that.”
    “I know better,” said Greta, “than to write to a happy couple when they’re on their honeymoon.”
    “But were they very angry with you?”
    “Of course! What do you imagine? But I was prepared for that, I can assure you.”
    “What have they said or done?”
    “Everything they could,” said Greta cheerfully. “Starting with the sack naturally.”
    “Yes, I suppose that was inevitable. But—but what have you done? After all they can’t refuse to give you references.”
    “Of course they can. And after all, from their point of view I was placed in a position of trust and abused it shamefully.” She added, “Enjoyed abusing it too.”
    “But what are you going to do now?”
    “Oh I’ve got a job ready to walk into.”
    “In New York?”
    “No. Here in London. Secretarial.”
    “But are you all right?”
    “Darling Ellie,” said Greta, “how can I not be all right with that lovely cheque you sent me in anticipation of what was going to happen when the balloon went up?”
    Her English was very good with hardly any trace of accent though she used a lot of colloquial terms which sometimes didn’t run quite right.
    “I’ve seen a bit of the world, fixed myself up in London and bought a good many things as well.”
    “Mike and I have bought a lot of things too,” said Ellie, smiling at the recollection.
    It was true. We’d done ourselves pretty well with our continental shopping. It was really wonderful that we had dollars to spend, no niggling Treasury restrictions. Brocades and fabrics in Italy for the house. And we’d bought pictures too, both in Italy and in Paris, paying what seemed fabulous sums for them. A whole world had opened up to me that I’d never dreamt would have come my way.
    “You both look remarkably happy,” said Greta.
    “You haven’t seen our house yet,” said Ellie. “It’s going to be wonderful. It’s going to be just like we dreamed it would be, isn’t it, Mike?”
    “I have seen it,” said Greta. “The first day I got back to England I hired a car and drove down there.”
    “Well?” said Ellie.
    I said Well? too.
    “Well,” said Greta consideringly. She shifted her head from side to side.
    Ellie looked grief-stricken, horribly taken aback. But I wasn’t taken in. I saw at once that Greta was having a bit of fun with us. If the thought of fun wasn’t very kind, it hardly had time to take root. Greta burst out laughing, a high musical laugh that made people turn their heads and look at us.
    “You should have seen your faces,” she said, “especially yours, Ellie. I have to tease you just a little. It’s a wonderful house, lovely. That man’s a genius.”
    “Yes,” I said, “he’s something out of the ordinary. Wait till you meet him.”
    “I have met him,” said Greta. “He was down there the day I went. Yes, he’s an extraordinary person. Rather frightening, don’t you think?”
    “Frightening?” I said, surprised. “In what way?”
    “Oh I don’t know. It’s as though he looks through you and—well, sees right through to the other side. That’s always disconcerting.” Then she added, “He looks rather ill.”
    “He is ill. Very ill,” I said.
    “What a shame. What’s the matter with him, tuberculosis, something like that?”
    “No,” I said, “I don’t think it’s tuberculosis. I think it’s something to do with—oh with blood.”
    “Oh I see. Doctors can do almost anything nowadays, can’t they, unless they kill you first while they’re trying to cure you. But don’t let’s think of that. Let’s think of the house. When will it be finished?”
    “Quite soon, I should think, by the look of it. I’d never imagined a house could go up so quickly,” I said.
    “Oh,” said Greta carelessly, “that’s money. Double shifts and bonuses—all the rest of it. You don’t really know