Taken at the Flood by Agatha Christie Page B

circling round each other, backs stiff, hackles up, ready to be friendly or ready to snarl and snap.
    “Cheerio,” said Arden.
    “Cheerio.”
    They set their glasses down, relaxed a little. Round One was over.
    The man who called himself Enoch Arden said:
    “You were surprised to get my letter?”
    “Frankly,” said David, “I don't understand it at all.”
    “N-no - n-no - well, perhaps not.”
    David said:
    “I understand you knew my sister's first husband - Robert Underhay.”
    “Yes, I knew Robert very well.” Arden was smiling, blowing clouds of smoke idly up in the air. “As well, perhaps, as any one could know him. You never met him, did you. Hunter?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, perhaps that's as well.”
    “What do you mean by that?” David asked sharply.
    Arden said easily:
    “My dear fellow, it makes everything much simpler - that's all. I apologise for asking you to come here, but I did think it was best to keep -” he paused - “Rosaleen out of it all. No need to give her unnecessary pain.”
    “Do you mind coming to the point?”
    “Of course, of course. Well now, did you ever suspect - how shall we say - that there was anything - well - fishy - about Underhay's death?”
    “What on earth do you mean?”
    “Well, Underhay had rather peculiar ideas, you know. It may have been chivalry - it may just possibly have been for quite a different reason - but let's say that, at a particular moment some years ago there were certain advantages to Underhay in being considered dead. He was good at managing natives - always had been. No trouble to him to get a probable story circulated with any amount of corroborative detail. All Underhay had to do was to turn up about a thousand miles away - with a new name.”
    “It seems a most fantastic supposition to me,” said David.
    “Does it? Does it really?” Arden smiled. He leaned forward, tapped David on the knee. “Suppose it's true, Hunter? Eh? Suppose it's true?”
    “I should require very definite proof of it.”
    “Would you? Well, of course, there's no super-definite proof. Underhay himself could turn up here - in Warmsley Vale. How'd you like that for proof?”
    “It would at least be conclusive,” said David dryly.
    “Oh, yes, conclusive - but just a little embarrassing - for Mrs Gordon Cloade, I mean. Because then, of course, she wouldn't be Mrs Gordon Cloade. Awkward. You must admit, just a little bit awkward?”
    “My sister,” said David, “remarried in perfectly good faith.”
    “Of course she did, my dear fellow. Of course she did. I'm not disputing that for a second. Any judge would say the same. No actual blame could attach to her.”
    “Judge?” said David sharply.
    The other said as though apologetically:
    “I was thinking of bigamy.”
    “Just what are you driving at?” asked David savagely.
    “Now don't get excited, old boy. We just want to put our heads together and see what's best to be done - best for your sister, that's to say. Nobody wants a lot of dirty publicity. Underhay - well, Underhay was always a chivalrous kind of chap.” Arden paused. “He still is...”
    “Is?” asked David sharply.
    “That's what I said.”
    “You say Robert Underhay is alive. Where is he now?”
    Arden leaned forward - his voice became confidential.
    “Do you really want to know, Hunter? Wouldn't it be better if you didn't know? Put it that, as far as you know, and as far as Rosaleen knows, Underhay died in Africa. Very good, and if Underhay is alive, he doesn't know his wife has married again, he hasn't the least idea of it. Because, of course, if he did know he would have come forward... Rosaleen, you see, has inherited a good deal of money from her second husband - well, then, of course she isn't entitled to any of that money... Underhay is a man with a very sensitive sense of honour. He wouldn't like her inheriting money under false pretences.” He paused. “But of course it's possible that Underhay doesn't know anything about her