The Clocks by Agatha Christie Page B

you’ll have a good rest then.”
    â€œI mean to treat myself to a real lazy time,” she said.
    The other young man who had been silently taking down notes, startled her a little by speaking.
    â€œYou ought to have one of those foreign girls,” he said. “ Au pair, don’t they call it, come and do chores here in return for learning English.”
    â€œI suppose I might try something of that kind,” said Mrs. Ramsay, considering, “though I always feel that foreigners may be difficult. My husband laughs at me. But then of course he knows more about it than I do. I haven’t travelled abroad as much as he has.”
    â€œHe’s away now, isn’t he?” said Hardcastle.
    â€œYes—he had to go to Sweden at the beginning of August. He’s a constructional engineer. A pity he had to go just then—at the beginning of the holidays, too. He’s so good with the children. He really likes playing with electric trains more than the boys do. Sometimes the lines and the marshalling yards and everything go right across the hall and into the other room. It’s very difficult notto fall over them.” She shook her head. “Men are such children,” she said indulgently.
    â€œWhen do you expect him back, Mrs. Ramsay?”
    â€œI never know.” She sighed. “It makes it rather—difficult.” There was a tremor in her voice. Colin looked at her keenly.
    â€œWe mustn’t take up more of your time, Mrs. Ramsay.”
    Hardcastle rose to his feet.
    â€œPerhaps your boys will show us the garden?”
    Bill and Ted were waiting in the hall and fell in with the suggestion immediately.
    â€œOf course,” said Bill apologetically, “it isn’t a very big garden.”
    There had been some slight effort made to keep the garden of No. 62, Wilbraham Crescent in reasonable order. On one side there was a border of dahlias and Michaelmas daisies. Then a small lawn somewhat unevenly mown. The paths badly needed hoeing, models of aeroplanes, space guns and other representations of modern science lay about, looking slightly the worse for wear. At the end of the garden was an apple tree with pleasant-looking red apples on it. Next to it was a pear tree.
    â€œThat’s it, ” said Ted, pointing at the space between the apple and the pear, through which the back of Miss Pebmarsh’s house showed clearly. “That’s Number 19 where the murder was.”
    â€œGot quite a good view of the house, haven’t you,” said the inspector. “Better still, I expect, from the upstairs windows.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Bill. “If only we’d been up there yesterday looking out, we might have seen something. But we didn’t.”
    â€œWe were at the cinema,” said Ted.
    â€œWere there fingerprints?” asked Bill.
    â€œNot very helpful ones. Were you out in the garden at all yesterday?”
    â€œOh, yes, off and on,” said Bill. “All the morning, that is. We didn’t hear anything, though, or see anything.”
    â€œIf we’d been there in the afternoon we might have heard screams,” said Ted, wistfully. “Awful screams there were.”
    â€œDo you know Miss Pebmarsh, the lady who owns that house, by sight?”
    The boys looked at each other, then nodded.
    â€œShe’s blind,” said Ted, “but she can walk around the garden all right. Doesn’t have to walk with a stick or anything like that. She threw a ball back to us once. Quite nice about it she was.”
    â€œYou didn’t see her at all yesterday?”
    The boys shook their heads.
    â€œWe wouldn’t see her in the morning. She’s always out,” Bill explained. “She usually comes out in the garden after tea.”
    Colin was exploring a line of hosepipe which was attached to a tap in the house. It ran along the garden path and was laid down in the corner near the pear