Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?. Agatha Christie

said Bobby thoughtfully. ‘If your reconstruction is correct, they must be in it. According to our present theory, it goes like this. Dead man X is deliberately pushed over cliff – presumably by BF (pardon these initials). It is important that X should not be correctly identified, so portrait of Mrs C is put in his pocket and portrait of fair unknown removed. (Who was she, I wonder?)’

      ‘Keep to the point,’ said Frankie sternly.

      ‘Mrs C waits for photographs to appear and turns up as grief-stricken sister and identifies X as her brother from foreign parts.’

      ‘You don’t believe he could really have been her brother?’

      ‘Not for a moment! You know, it puzzled me all along. The Caymans were a different class altogether. The dead man was – well, it sounds a most awful thing to say and just like some deadly old retired Anglo-Indian, but the dead man was a pukka sahib.’

      ‘And the Caymans most emphatically weren’t?’

      ‘Most emphatically.’

      ‘And then, just when everything has gone off well from the Caymans’ point of view – body successfully identified, verdict of accidental death, everything in the garden lovely – you come along and mess things up,’ mused Frankie.

      ‘“Why didn’t they ask Evans?”’ Bobby repeated the phrase thoughtfully. ‘You know, I can’t see what on earth there can be in that to put the wind up anybody.’

      ‘Ah! that’s because you don’t know. It’s like making crossword puzzles. You write down a clue and you think it’s too idiotically simple and that everyone will guess it straight off, and you’re frightfully surprised when they simply can’t get it in the least. “Why didn’t they ask Evans?” must have been a most frightfully significant phrase to them, and they couldn’t realize that it meant nothing at all to you.’

      ‘More fools they.’

      ‘Oh, quite so. But it’s just possible they thought that if Pritchard said that, he might have said something more which would also recur to you in due time. Anyway, they weren’t going to take chances. You were safer out of the way.’

      ‘They took a lot of risk. Why didn’t they engineer another “accident”?’

      ‘No, no. That would have been stupid. Two accidents within a week of each other? It might have suggested a connection between the two, and then people would have begun inquiring into the first one. No, I think there’s a kind of bald simplicity about their method which is really rather clever.’

      ‘And yet you said just now that morphia wasn’t easy to get hold of.’

      ‘No more it isn’t. You have to sign poison books and things. Oh! of course, that’s a clue. Whoever did it had easy access to supplies of morphia.’

      ‘A doctor, a hospital nurse, or a chemist,’ suggested Bobby.

      ‘Well, I was thinking more of illicitly imported drugs.’

      ‘You can’t mix up too many different sorts of crime,’ said Bobby.

      ‘You see, the strong point would be the absence of motive. Your death doesn’t benefit anyone. So what will the police think?’

      ‘A lunatic,’ said Bobby. ‘And that’s what they do think.’

      ‘You see? It’s awfully simple, really.’

      Bobby began to laugh suddenly.

      ‘What’s amusing you?’

      ‘Just the thought of how sick-making it must be for them! All that morphia – enough to kill five or six people – and here I am still alive and kicking.’

      ‘One of Life’s little ironies that one can’t foresee,’ agreed Frankie.

      ‘The question is – what do we do next?’ said Bobby practically.

      ‘Oh! lots of things,’ said Frankie promptly.

      ‘Such as … ?’

      ‘Well – finding out about the photograph – that there was only one, not two. And about Bassington-ffrench’s house hunting.’

      ‘That will probably be quite all right and above board.’

      ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Look here, Frankie, think a minute. Bassington-ffrench must be above suspicion. He must be all clear and above board. Not only must there be nothing to connect him in any way with the dead man, but he must have a proper reason for being down here. He may have invented house hunting on the spur of the moment, but I bet he carried out something of the kind. There must be no suggestion of a “mysterious stranger seen in the neighbourhood of the accident”. I fancy that Bassington-ffrench is his own name and that he’s the sort of person who would be quite above suspicion.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Frankie thoughtfully. ‘That’s a very good deduction. There will be nothing whatever to connect Bassington-ffrench with Alex Pritchard. Now, if we knew who the dead man really was –’

      ‘Ah, then it might be different.’

      ‘So it was very important that the body should not be recognized – hence all the Cayman camouflage. And yet it was taking a big risk.’

      ‘You forget that Mrs Cayman identified him as soon as was humanly possible. After that, even if there had been pictures of him in the papers (you know how blurry these things are) people would only say: “Curious, this man Pritchard, who fell over a cliff, is really extraordinarily like Mr X.”’

      ‘There must be more to it than that,’ said Frankie shrewdly. ‘X must have been a man who wouldn’t easily be missed. I mean, he couldn’t have been the sort of family man whose wife or relations would go to the police at once and report him missing.’

      ‘Good for you, Frankie. No, he must have been just going abroad or perhaps just come back (he was marvellously tanned – like a big-game hunter – he looked that sort of person) and he can’t have had any very near relations who knew all about his movements.’

      ‘We’re deducing beautifully,’ said Frankie. ‘I hope we’re not deducing all wrong.’

      ‘Very likely,’ said Bobby. ‘But I think what we’ve said so far is fairly sound sense – granted, that is, the wild improbability of the whole thing.’

      Frankie waved away the wild improbability with an airy gesture.

      ‘The thing is – what to do next,’ she said. ‘It seems to me we’ve got three angles of attack.’

      ‘Go on, Sherlock.’

      ‘The first is you. They’ve made one attempt on your life. They’ll probably try again. This time we might get what they call “a line” on them. Using you as a decoy, I mean.’

      ‘No thank you, Frankie,’ said Bobby with feeling. ‘I’ve been very lucky this time, but I mightn’t be so lucky again if they changed the attack to a blunt instrument. I was thinking of taking a great deal of care of myself in the future. The decoy idea can be washed out.’

      ‘I was afraid you’d say that,’ said Frankie with a sigh. ‘Young men are sadly degenerate nowadays. Father says so. They don’t enjoy being uncomfortable and doing dangerous and unpleasant things any longer. It’s a pity.’

      ‘A great pity,’ said Bobby, but he spoke with firmness. ‘What’s the second plan of campaign?’

      ‘Working from the “Why didn’t they ask Evans?” clue,’ said Frankie. ‘Presumably the dead man came down here to see Evans, whoever he was. Now, if we could find Evans –’

      ‘How many Evanses,’ Bobby interrupted, ‘do you think there are in Marchbolt?’

      ‘Seven hundred,