Detectives and Young Adventurers: The Complete Short Stories. Agatha Christie

to put a man off his game.’

      ‘It must have been something pretty serious to put Sessle off his game. His handicap’s two, and from the seventh tee on he played like a child, so they say.’

      ‘Who say?’

      ‘Barnard and Lecky. They were playing just behind him, you remember.’

      ‘That was after he met the woman – the tall woman in brown. They saw him speaking to her, didn’t they?’

      ‘Yes – at least –’

      Tommy broke off. Tuppence looked up at him and was puzzled. He was staring at the piece of string in his fingers, but staring with the eyes of one who sees something very different.

      ‘Tommy – what is it?’

      ‘Be quiet, Tuppence. I’m playing the sixth hole at Sunningdale. Sessle and old Hollaby are holing out on the sixth green ahead of me. It’s getting dusk, but I can see that bright blue coat of Sessle’s clearly enough. And on the footpath to the left of me there’s a woman coming along. She hasn’t crossed from the ladies’ course – that’s on the right – I should have seen her if she had done so. And it’s odd I didn’t see her on the footpath before – from the fifth tee, for instance.‘

      He paused.

      ‘You said just now I knew the course, Tuppence. Just behind the sixth tee there’s a little hut or shelter made of turf. Any one could wait in there until – the right moment came. They could change their appearance there. I mean – tell me, Tuppence, this is where your special knowledge comes in again – would it be very difficult for a man to look like a woman, and then change back to being a man again? Could he wear a skirt over plus-fours, for instance?’

      ‘Certainly he could. The woman would look a bit bulky, that would be all. A longish brown skirt, say a brown sweater of the kind both men and women wear, and a woman’s felt hat with a bunch of side curls attached each side. That would be all that was needed – I’m speaking, of course, of what would pass at a distance, which I take to be what you are driving at. Switch off the skirt, take off the hat and curls, and put on a man’s cap which you can carry rolled up in your hand, and there you’d be – back as a man again.’

      ‘And the time required for the transformation?’

      ‘From woman to man, a minute and a half at the outside, probably a good deal less. The other way about would take longer, you’d have to arrange the hat and curls a bit, and the skirt would stick getting it on over the plus fours.’

      ‘That doesn’t worry me. It’s the time for the first that matters. As I tell you, I’m playing the sixth hole. The woman in brown has reached the seventh tee now. She crosses it and waits. Sessle in his blue coat goes towards her. They stand together a minute, and then they follow the path round the trees out of sight. Hollaby is on the tee alone. Two or three minutes pass. I’m on the green now. The man in the blue coat comes back and drives off, foozling badly. The light’s getting worse. I and my partner go on. Ahead of us are those two, Sessle slicing and topping and doing everything he shouldn’t do. At the eighth green, I see him stride off and vanish down the slip. What happened to him to make him play like a different man?’

      ‘The woman in brown – or the man, if you think it was a man.’

      ‘Exactly, and where they were standing – out of sight, remember, of those coming after them – there’s a deep tangle of furze bushes. You could thrust a body in there, and it would be pretty certain to lie hidden until the morning.’

      ‘Tommy! You think it was then. – But someone would have heard –’

      ‘Heard what? The doctors agreed death must have been instantaneous. I’ve seen men killed instantaneously in the war. They don’t cry out as a rule – just a gurgle, or a moan – perhaps just a sigh, or a funny little cough. Sessle comes towards the seventh tee, and the woman comes forward and speaks to him. He recognises her, perhaps, as a man he knows masquerading. Curious to learn the why and wherefore, he allows himself to be drawn along the footpath out of sight. One stab with the deadly hatpin as they walk along. Sessle falls – dead. The other man drags his body into the furze bushes, strips off the blue coat, then sheds his own skirt and the hat and curls. He puts on Sessle’s well-known blue coat and cap and strides back to the tee. Three minutes would do it. The others behind can’t see his face, only the peculiar blue coat they know so well. They never doubt that it’s Sessle – but he doesn’t play Sessle’s brand of golf. They all say he played like a different man. Of course he did. He was a different man.’

      ‘But –’

      ‘Point No. 2. His action in bringing the girl down there was the action of a different man. It wasn’t Sessle who met Doris Evans at a cinema and induced her to come down to Sunningdale. It was a man calling himself Sessle. Remember, Doris Evans wasn’t arrested until a fortnight after the time. She never saw the body. If she had, she might have bewildered everyone by declaring that that wasn’t the man who took her out on the golf links that night and spoke so wildly of suicide. It was a carefully laid plot. The girl invited down for Wednesday when Sessle’s house would be empty, then the hatpin which pointed to its being a woman’s doing. The murderer meets the girl, takes her into the bungalow and gives her supper, then takes her out on the links, and when he gets to the scene of the crime, brandishes his revolver and scares the life out of her. Once she has taken to her heels, all he has to do is to pull out the body and leave it lying on the tee. The revolver he chucks into the bushes. Then he makes a neat parcel of the skirt and – now I admit I’m guessing – in all probability walks to Woking, which is only about six or seven miles away, and goes back to town from there.’

      ‘Wait a minute,’ said Tuppence. ‘There’s one thing you haven’t explained. What about Hollaby?’

      ‘Hollaby?’

      ‘Yes. I admit that the people behind couldn’t have seen whether it was really Sessle or not. But you can’t tell me that the man who was playing with him was so hypnotised by the blue coat that he never looked at his face.’

      ‘My dear old thing,’ said Tommy. ‘That’s just the point. Hollaby knew all right. You see, I’m adopting your theory – that Hollaby and his son were the real embezzlers. The murderer’s got to be a man who knew Sessle pretty well – knew, for instance, about the servants being always out on a Wednesday, and that his wife was away. And also someone who was able to get an impression of Sessle’s latch key. I think Hollaby junior would fulfil all these requirements. He’s about the same age and height as Sessle, and they were both clean-shaven men. Doris Evans probably saw several photographs of the murdered man reproduced in the papers, but as you yourself observed – one can just see that it’s a man and that’s about all.’

      ‘Didn’t she ever see Hollaby in Court?’

      ‘The son never appeared in the case at all. Why should he? He had no evidence to give. It was old Hollaby, with his irreproachable alibi, who stood in the limelight throughout. Nobody has ever bothered to inquire what his son was doing that particular evening.’

      ‘It all fits in,’ admitted Tuppence. She paused a minute and then asked: ‘Are you going to tell all this to the police?’

      ‘I don’t know if they’d listen.’

      ‘They’d listen all right,’ said an unexpected voice behind him.

      Tommy swung round to confront Inspector Marriot. The Inspector was sitting at the next table. In front of him was a poached egg.

      ‘Often drop in here to lunch,’ said Inspector Marriot. ‘As I was saying, we’ll listen all right – in fact I’ve been listening. I don’t mind telling you that we’ve not been quite satisfied all along over those Porcupine figures. You see, we’ve had our suspicions of those Hollabys, but nothing to go upon. Too sharp for us. Then this murder came, and that seemed to upset all our ideas. But thanks to you and the lady, sir, we’ll confront young Hollaby with Doris Evans and see if she recognises him. I rather