Towards Zero by Agatha Christie Page A

was a long time ago, but I would recognize my little murderer anywhere.”
    â€œSurely not,” objected Royde.
    â€œOh, yes, there was a certain physical peculiarity—well, I willnot dwell on the subject. It is not a very pleasant one. I must really be on my way home.”
    He rose.
    Mary said, “You will have a drink first?”
    The drinks were on a table at the other end of the room. Thomas Royde, who was near them, stepped forward and took the stopper out of the whisky decanter.
    â€œA whisky and soda, Mr. Treves? Latimer, what about you?”
    Nevile said to Audrey in a low voice:
    â€œIt’s a lovely evening. Come out for a little.”
    She had been standing by the window looking out at the moonlit terrace. He stepped past her and stood outside, waiting. She turned back into the room, shaking her head quickly.
    â€œNo, I’m tired. I—I think I’ll go to bed.”
    She crossed the room and went out. Kay gave a wide yawn.
    â€œI’m sleepy too. What about you, Mary?”
    â€œYes, I think so. Goodnight, Mr. Treves. Look after Mr. Treves, Thomas.”
    â€œGoodnight, Miss Aldin. Goodnight, Mrs. Strange.”
    â€œWe’ll be over for lunch tomorrow, Ted,” said Kay. “We could bathe if it’s still like this.”
    â€œRight. I’ll be looking for you. Goodnight, Miss Aldin.”
    The two women left the room.
    Ted Latimer said agreeably to Mr. Treves:
    â€œI’m coming your way, sir. Down to the ferry, so I pass the Hotel.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Latimer. I shall be glad of your escort.”
    Mr. Treves, although he had declared his intention of departing, seemed in no hurry. He sipped his drink with pleasant deliberation and devoted himself to the task of extracting information from Thomas Royde as to the condition of life in Malaya.
    Royde was monosyllabic in his answers. The everyday details of existence might have been secrets of National importance from the difficulty with which they were dragged from him. He seemed to be lost in some abstraction of his own, out of which he roused himself with difficulty to reply to his questioner.
    Ted Latimer fidgeted. He looked bored, impatient, anxious to be gone.
    Suddenly interrupting, he exclaimed:
    â€œI nearly forgot! I brought Kay over some gramophone records she wanted. They’re in the hall. I’ll get them. Will you tell her about them tomorrow, Royde?”
    The other man nodded. Ted left the room.
    â€œThat young man has a restless nature,” murmured Mr. Treves.
    Royde grunted without replying.
    â€œA friend, I think, of Mrs. Strange’s?” pursued the old lawyer.
    â€œOf Kay Strange’s,” said Thomas.
    Mr. Treves smiled.
    â€œYes,” he said. “I meant that. He would hardly be a friend of the first Mrs. Strange.”
    Royde said emphatically:
    â€œNo, he wouldn’t.”
    Then, catching the other’s quizzical eye, he said, flushing a little:
    â€œWhat I mean is—”
    â€œOh, I quite understood what you meant, Mr. Royde. You yourself are a friend of Mrs. Audrey Strange, are you not?”
    Thomas Royde slowly filled his pipe from his tobacco pouch. His eyes bent to his task, he said or rather mumbled:
    â€œM—yes. More or less brought up together.”
    â€œShe must have been a very charming young girl?”
    Thomas Royde said something that sounded like “Um—yum.”
    â€œA little awkward having two Mrs. Stranges in the house?”
    â€œOh yes—yes, rather.”
    â€œA difficult position for the original Mrs. Strange.”
    Thomas Royde’s face flushed.
    â€œExtremely difficult.”
    Mr. Treves leaned forward. His question popped out sharply:
    â€œWhy did she come, Mr. Royde?”
    â€œWell—I suppose—” The other’s voice was indistinct. “She—didn’t like to refuse.”
    â€œTo refuse whom?”
    Royde shifted awkwardly.
    â€œWell, as