The Mysterious Mr Quin by Agatha Christie Page A

it was found later, and was apparently just coming out of the neighbour’s gate when someone came running to fetch him. But the telephone–what about the telephone? Ah! yes, I see. He disconnected it so that a summons could not be sent to the police that way–they might have noted the time it was received. And Wylde’s story works out now. The real time he left was five and twenty minutes past six. Walking slowly, he would reach home about a quarter to seven. Yes, I see it all. Louisa was the only danger with her endless talk about her superstitious fancies. Someone might realize the significance of the train and then–goodbye to that excellent alibi .’
    ‘Wonderful,’ commented Mr Quin.
    Mr Satterthwaite turned to him, flushed with success.
    ‘The only thing is–how to proceed now?’
    ‘I should suggest Sylvia Dale,’ said Mr Quin.
    Mr Satterthwaite looked doubtful.
    ‘I mentioned to you,’ he said, ‘she seemed to me a little–er–stupid.’
    ‘She has a father and brothers who will take the necessary steps.’
    ‘That is true,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, relieved.
    A very short time afterwards he was sitting with the girl telling her the story. She listened attentively. She put no questions to him but when he had done she rose.
    ‘I must have a taxi–at once.’
    ‘My dear child, what are you going to do?’
    ‘I am going to Sir George Barnaby.’
    ‘Impossible. Absolutely the wrong procedure. Allow me to–’
    He twittered on by her side. But he produced no impression. Sylvia Dale was intent on her own plans. She allowed him to go with her in the taxi, but to all his remonstrances she addressed a deaf ear. She left him in the taxi while she went into Sir George’s city office.
    It was half an hour later when she came out. Shelooked exhausted, her fair beauty drooping like a waterless flower. Mr Satterthwaite received her with concern.
    ‘I’ve won,’ she murmured, as she leant back with half-closed eyes.
    ‘What?’ He was startled. ‘What did you do? What did you say?’
    She sat up a little.
    ‘I told him that Louisa Bullard had been to the police with her story. I told him that the police had made inquiries and that he had been seen going into his own grounds and out again a few minutes after half-past six. I told him that the game was up. He–he went to pieces. I told him that there was still time for him to get away, that the police weren’t coming for another hour to arrest him. I told him that if he’d sign a confession that he’d killed Vivien I’d do nothing, but that if he didn’t I’d scream and tell the whole building the truth. He was so panicky that he didn’t know what he was doing. He signed the paper without realizing what he was doing.’
    She thrust it into his hands.
    ‘Take it–take it. You know what to do with it so that they’ll set Martin free.’
    ‘He actually signed it,’ cried Mr Satterthwaite, amazed.
    ‘He is a little stupid, you know,’ said Sylvia Dale. ‘So am I,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘That’s whyI know how stupid people behave. We get rattled, you know, and then we do the wrong thing and are sorry afterwards.’
    She shivered and Mr Satterthwaite patted her hand.
    ‘You need something to pull you together,’ he said. ‘Come, we are close to a very favourite resort of mine–the Arlecchino . Have you ever been there?’
    She shook her head.
    Mr Satterthwaite stopped the taxi and took the girl into the little restaurant. He made his way to the table in the recess, his heart beating hopefully. But the table was empty.
    Sylvia Dale saw the disappointment in his face.
    ‘What is it?’ she asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘That is, I half expected to see a friend of mine here. It doesn’t matter. Some day, I expect, I shall see him again…’

Chapter 5
The Soul of the Croupier
    Mr Satterthwaite was enjoying the sunshine on the terrace at Monte Carlo.
    Every year regularly on the second Sunday in January, Mr