Towards Zero by Agatha Christie

enormously. She has so few contacts now with the outside world. She's wonderful, isn't she?”
    “Yes, indeed. A most stimulating conversationalist.”
    Mr. Treves dressed himself carefully with overcoat and muffler, and after renewed good nights he and Ted Latimer set out together.
    The Balmoral Court was actually only about a hundred yards away, around one curve of the road. It loomed up grim and forbidding, the first outpost of the straggling country street.
    The ferry, where Ted Latimer was bound, was two or three hundred yards farther down, at a point where the river was at its narrowest.
    Mr. Treves stopped at the door of the Balmoral Court and held out his hand. “Good night, Mr. Latimer. You are staying down here much longer?”
    Ted smiled with a flash of white teeth. “That depends, Mr. Treves. I haven't had time to be bored - yet.”
    “No - no, so I should imagine. I suppose, like most young people nowadays, boredom is what you dread most in the world, and yet, I can assure you, there are worse things.”
    “Such as?”
    Ted Latimer's voice was soft and pleasant, but it held an undercurrent of something else - something not quite so easy to define.
    “Oh, I leave it to your imagination, Mr. Latimer. I would not presume to give you advice, you know. The advice of such elderly fogeys as myself is invariably treated with scorn. Rightly so, perhaps, who knows? But we old buffers like to think that experience has taught us something. We have noticed a good deal, you know, in the course of a lifetime.”
    A cloud, had come over the face of the moon. The street was very dark. Out of the darkness a man's figure came towards them walking up the hill.
    It was Thomas Royde.
    “Just been down to the ferry for a bit of a walk,” he said indistinctly because of the pipe clenched between his teeth.
    “This your pub?” he asked Mr. Treves. “Looks as though you were locked out.”
    “Oh, I don't think so,” said Mr. Treves.
    He turned the big brass door-knob and the door swung back.
    “We'll see you safely in,” said Royde.
    The three of them entered the hall. It was dimly lit with only one electric light. There was no one to be seen, and an odour of bygone dinner, rather dusty velvet, and good furniture met their nostrils.
    Suddenly Mr. Treves gave an exclamation of annoyance. On the lift in front of them was a notice: LIFT OUT OF ORDER
    “Dear me,” said Mr. Treves. “How extremely vexing! I shall have to walk up all those stairs.”
    “Too bad,” said Royde. “Isn't there a service lift - luggage - all that?”
    “I'm afraid not. This one is used for all purposes. Well, I must take it slowly, that is all. Good night to you both.”
    He started slowly up the wide staircase. Royde and Latimer wished him good night, then let themselves out into the dark street.
    There was a moment's pause, then Royde said abruptly: “Well, good night.”
    “Good night. See you to-morrow.”
    “Yes.”
    Ted Latimer strode lightly down the hill towards the ferry. Thomas Royde stood looking after him for a moment, then he walked slowly in the opposite direction towards Gull's Point.
    The moon came out from behind the cloud and Saltcreek was once more bathed in silvery radiance.

Towards Zero
    VII
    “Just like summer,” murmured Mary Aldin.
    She and Audrey were sitting on the beach just below the imposing edifice of the Easterhead Bay Hotel. Audrey wore a white swim-suit and looked like a delicate ivory figurine. Mary had not bathed. A little way along from them Kay lay on her face exposing her bronzed limbs and back to the sun.
    “Ugh!” She sat up. “The water's horribly cold,” she said accusingly.
    “Oh, well, it is September,” said Mary.
    “It's always cold in England,” said Kay discontentedly.
    “How I wish we were in the South of France! That really is hot.”
    Ted Latimer from beyond her murmured: “This sun here isn't a real sun.”
    “Aren't you going in at all, Mr. Latimer?” asked Mary.
    Kay