N or M by Agatha Christie Page A

thinking, my boy, wishful thinking,” said Commander Haydock. “The Russkys are as crooked as Hell and have always been. Don't trust 'em, that's what I say. Hear you've been under the weather?”
    “Just a touch of hay fever. I get it about this time of year.”
    “Yes, of course. Never suffered from it myself, but I had a pal who did. Used to lay him out regularly every June. Feeling fit enough for a game of golf?”
    Tommy said he'd like it very much.
    “Right. What about tomorrow? Tell you what, I've got to go to a meeting about this Parashot business, raising a corps of local volunteers - jolly good idea if you ask me. Time we were all made to pull our weight. So shall we have a round about six?”
    “Thanks very much. I'd like to.”
    “Good. Then that's settled.”
    The Commander drew up abruptly at the gate of Sans Souci.
    “How's the fair Sheila?” he asked.
    “Quite well, I think. I haven't seen much of her.”
    Haydock gave his loud barking laugh.
    “Not as much as you'd like to, I bet! Good looking girl, that, but damned rude. She sees too much of that German fellow. Damned unpatriotic, I call it. Daresay she's got no use for old fogies like you or me, but there are plenty of nice lads going about in our own services. Why take up with a bloody German? That sort of thing riles me.”
    Mr Meadowes said:
    “Be careful, he's just coming up the hill behind us.”
    “Don't care if he does hear! Rather hope he does. I'd like to kick Master Carl's behind for him. Any decent German's fighting for his country - not slinking over here to get out of it!”
    “Well,” said Tommy. “It's one less German to invade England at all events.”
    “You mean he's here already? Ha, ha! rather good, Meadowes! Not that I believe this tommy rot about invasion. We never have been invaded and never will be. We've got a Navy, thank God!”
    With which patriotic announcement the Commander let in his clutch with a jerk and the car leaped forward up the hill to Smuggler's Rest.

N or M
    VI
    Tuppence arrived at the gate of Sans Souci at twenty minutes to two. She turned off from the drive and went through the garden and into the house through the open drawing room window. A smell of Irish stew and the clatter of plates and murmur of voices came from afar. Sans Souci was hard at work on its midday meal.
    Tuppence waited by the drawing-room door until Martha, the maid, had passed across the hall and into the dining-room, then she ran quickly up the stairs, shoeless.
    She went into the room, put on her soft felt bedroom slippers, and then went along the landing and into Mrs Perenna's room.
    Once inside she looked round her and felt a certain distaste sweep over her. Not a nice job, this. Quite unpardonable if Mrs Perenna was simply Mrs Perenna. Prying into people's private affairs -
    Tuppence shook herself, an impatient terrier shake that was a reminiscence of her girlhood. There was a war on!
    She went over to the dressing table.
    Quick and deft in her movements, she had soon gone through the contents of the drawers there. In the tall bureau, one of the drawers was locked That seamed more promising.
    Tommy had been entrusted with certain tools and had received some brief instruction on the manipulation of them. These indications he had passed on to Tuppence.
    A deft twist or two of the wrist and the drawer yielded.
    There was a cash box containing twenty pound in notes and some piles of silver - also a jewel case. And there was a heap of papers. These last were what interested Tuppence most. Rapidly she went through them; necessarily it was a cursory glance. She could not afford time for more.
    Papers relating to a mortgage on Sans Souci, a bank account, letters. Time flew past. Tuppence skimmed through the documents, concentrating furiously on anything that might bear a double meaning. Two letters from a friend in Italy, rambling discursive letters, seemingly quite harmless. But possibly not so harmless as they sounded. A letter