Towards Zero by Agatha Christie Page B

a matter of fact, I believe she always comes this time of year—beginning of September.”
    â€œAnd Lady Tressilian asked Nevile Strange and his new wife at the same time?” The old gentleman’s voice held a nice note of polite incredulity.
    â€œAs to that, I believe Nevile asked himself.”
    â€œHe was anxious, then, for this—reunion?”
    Royde shifted uneasily. He replied, avoiding the other’s eye:
    â€œI suppose so.”
    â€œCurious,” said Mr. Treves.
    â€œStupid sort of thing to do,” said Thomas Royde, goaded into longer speech.
    â€œSomewhat embarrassing one would have thought,” said Mr. Treves.
    â€œOh well—people do that sort of thing nowadays,” said Thomas Royde vaguely.
    â€œI wondered,” said Mr. Treves, “if it had been anybody else’s idea?”
    Royde stared.
    â€œWhose else’s could it have been?”
    Mr. Treves sighed.
    â€œThere are so many kind friends about in the world—always anxious to arrange other people’s lives for them—to suggest courses of action that are not in harmony—” He broke off as Nevile Strange strolled back through the french windows. At the same moment Ted Latimer entered by the door from the hall.
    â€œHullo, Ted, what have you got there?” asked Nevile.
    â€œGramophone records for Kay. She asked me to bring them over.”
    â€œOh did she? She didn’t tell me.” There was just a moment of constraint between the two, then Nevile strolled over to the drink tray and helped himself to a whisky and soda. His face looked excited and unhappy and he was breathing deeply.
    Someone in Mr. Treves’ hearing had referred to Nevile as “that lucky beggar Strange—got everything in the world anyone could wish for.” Yet he did not look, at this moment, at all a happy man.
    Thomas Royde, with Nevile’s re-entry, seemed to feel that his duties as host were over. He left the room without attempting to say goodnight, and his walk was slightly more hurried than usual. It was almost an escape.
    â€œA delightful evening,” said Mr. Treves politely as he set down his glass. “Most—er—instructive.”
    â€œInstructive?” Nevile raised his eyebrows slightly.
    â€œInformation re the Malay States,” suggested Ted, smiling broadly. “Hard work dragging answers out of Taciturn Thomas.”
    â€œExtraordinary fellow, Royde,” said Nevile. “I believe he’s always been the same. Just smokes that awful old pipe of his and listens and says Um and Ah occasionally and looks wise like an owl.”
    â€œPerhaps he thinks the more,” said Mr. Treves. “And now I really must take my leave.”
    â€œCome and see Lady Tressilian again soon,” said Nevile as he accompanied the two men to the hall. “You cheer her up enormously. She has so few contacts now with the outside world. She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”
    â€œYes, indeed. A most stimulating conversationalist.”
    Mr. Treves dressed himself carefully with overcoat and muffler, and after renewed goodnights 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 prim 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.
    â€œGoodnight, 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.”
    â€œNo—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.”
    â€œSuch