The Sittaford Mystery by Agatha Christie

talk to the old boy, look him up, that sort of thing, you know.”
    “He's a poor liar,” thought Inspector Narracott to himself. “Why, I could manage better than that myself.”
    Aloud he said:
    “Very good, sir. Now, may I ask you why, on hearing of your uncle's murder, you left Exhampton without disclosing your relationship to the murdered man?”
    “I was scared,” said the young man frankly. “I heard he had been murdered round about the time I left him. Now, dash it all, that's enough to scare anyone, isn't it? I got the wind up and left the place by the first available train. Oh, I dare say I was a fool to do anything of the sort. But you know what it is when you are rattled. And anyone might have been rattled under these circumstances.”
    “And that's all you have to say, sir?”
    “Yes - yes, of course.”
    “Then, perhaps you'll have no objection, sir, to coming round with me and having this statement taken down in writing, after which you will have it read over to you, and you will sign it.”
    “Is - is that all?”
    “I think it possible, Mr Pearson, that it may be necessary to detain you until after the inquest.”
    “Oh! my God,” said Jim Pearson. “Can nobody help me?”
    At that moment the door opened and a young woman walked into the room.
    She was, as the observant Inspector Narracott noted at once, a very exceptional kind of young woman. She was not strikingly beautiful, but she had a face which was arresting and unusual, a face that having once seen you could not forget. There was about her an atmosphere of common sense, savoir-faire, invincible determination and a most tantalizing fascination.
    “Oh! Jim,” she exclaimed, “What's happened?”
    “It's all over, Emily,” said the young man. “They think I murdered my uncle.”
    “Who thinks so?” demanded Emily.
    The young man indicated his visitor by a gesture.
    “This is Inspector Narracott,” he said, and he added with a dismal attempt at introduction, “Miss Emily Trefusis.”
    “Oh!” said Emily Trefusis.
    She studied Inspector Narracott with keen hazel eyes.
    “Jim,” she said, “is a frightful idiot. But he doesn't murder people.”
    The Inspector said nothing.
    “I expect,” said Emily, turning to Jim, “that you've been saying the most frightfully imprudent things. If you'd read the papers a little better than you do, Jim, you would know that you must never talk to policemen unless you have a strong solicitor sitting beside you making objections to every word. What's happened? Are you arresting him, Inspector Narracott?”
    Inspector Narracott explained technically and clearly exactly what he was doing.
    “Emily,” cried the young man, “you won't believe I did it? You never will believe it, will you?”
    “No, darling,” said Emily kindly. “Of course not.” And she added in a gentle meditative tone, “You haven't got the guts.”
    “I don't feel as if I had a friend in the world,” groaned Jim.
    “Yes, you have,” said Emily. “You've got me. Cheer up, Jim, look at the winking diamonds on the third finger of my left hand. Here stands the faithful fiancйe. Go with the Inspector and leave everything to me.”
    Jim Pearson rose, still with a dazed expression on his face. His overcoat was lying over a chair and he put it on. Inspector Narracott handed him a hat which was lying on a bureau near by. They moved towards the door and the Inspector said politely:
    “Good evening, Miss Trefusis.”
    “Au revoir, Inspector,” said Emily sweetly.
    And if he had known Miss Emily Trefusis better he would have known that in these three words lay a challenge.

The Sittaford Mystery

Chapter 11
    EMILY SETS TO WORK
    The inquest on the body of Captain Trevelyan was held on Monday morning. From the point of view of sensation it was a tame affair, for it was almost immediately adjourned for a week, thus disappointing large numbers of people. Between Saturday and Monday Exhampton had sprung into fame. The knowledge