{"id":2395,"date":"2026-01-03T22:27:10","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:27:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/ordeal-by-innocence-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:27:10","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:27:10","slug":"ordeal-by-innocence-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/ordeal-by-innocence-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"Ordeal by Innocence – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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One<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

I<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span>t was dusk when he came to the Ferry.<\/p>\n

He could have been there much earlier. The truth was, he had put it off as long as he could.<\/p>\n

First his luncheon with friends in Redquay; the light desultory conversation, the interchange of gossip about mutual friends\u2014all that had meant only that he was inwardly shrinking from what he had to do. His friends had invited him to stay on for tea and he had accepted. But at last the time had come when he knew that he could put things off no longer.<\/p>\n

The car he had hired was waiting. He said good-bye and left to drive the seven miles along the crowded coast road and then inland down the wooded lane that ended at the little stone quay on the river.<\/p>\n

There was a large bell there which his driver rang vigorously to summon the ferry from the far side.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t be wanting me to wait, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Arthur Calgary. \u201cI\u2019ve ordered a car to meet me over there in an hour\u2019s time\u2014to take me to Drymouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man received his fare and tip. He said, peering across the river in the gloom:<\/p>\n

\u201cFerry\u2019s coming now, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a soft-spoken good night he reversed the car and drove away up the hill. Arthur Calgary was left alone waiting on the quayside. Alone with his thoughts and his apprehension of what was in front of him. How wild the scenery was here, he thought. One could fancy oneself on a Scottish loch, far from anywhere. And yet, only a few miles away, were the hotels, the shops, the cocktail bars and the crowds of Redquay. He reflected, not for the first time, on the extraordinary contrasts of the English landscape.<\/p>\n

He heard the soft plash of the oars as the ferry boat drew in to the side of the little quay. Arthur Calgary walked down the sloping ramp and got into the boat as the ferryman steadied it with a boat-hook. He was an old man and gave Calgary the fanciful impression that he and his boat belonged together, were one and indivisible.<\/p>\n

A little cold wind came rustling up from the sea as they pushed off.<\/p>\n

\u201c \u2019Tis chilly this evening,\u201d said the ferryman.<\/p>\n

Calgary replied suitably. He further agreed that it was colder than yesterday.<\/p>\n

He was conscious, or thought he was conscious, of a veiled curiosity in the ferryman\u2019s eyes. Here was a stranger. And a stranger after the close of the tourist season proper. Moreover, this stranger was crossing at an unusual hour\u2014too late for tea at the caf\u00e9 by the pier. He had no luggage so he could not be coming to stay. (Why, Calgary wondered, had<\/span><\/span> he come so late in the day? Was it really because, subconsciously, he had been putting this moment off? Leaving as late as possible, the thing that had to be done?) Crossing the Rubicon\u2014the river \u2026 the river \u2026 his mind went back to that other river\u2014the Thames.<\/p>\n

He had stared at it unseeingly (was it only yesterday?) then turned to look again at the man facing him across the table. Those thoughtful eyes with something in them that he had not quite been able to understand. A reserve, something that was being thought but not expressed\u2026.<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose,\u201d he thought, \u201cthey learn never to show what they are thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n

The whole thing was pretty frightful when one came right down to it. He must do what had to be done\u2014and after that\u2014forget!<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He frowned as he remembered the conversation yesterday. That pleasant, quiet, noncommittal voice, saying:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re quite determined on your course of action, Dr. Calgary?\u201d<\/p>\n

He had answered, hotly:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else can<\/span><\/span> I do? Surely you see that? You must agree? It\u2019s a thing I can\u2019t possibly shirk.\u201d<\/p>\n

But he hadn\u2019t understood the look in those withdrawn grey eyes, and had been faintly perplexed by the answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne has to look all around a subject\u2014consider it from all aspects.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely there can be only one aspect from the point of view of justice?\u201d<\/p>\n

He had spoken hotly, thinking for a moment that this was an ignoble suggestion of \u201chushing up\u201d the matter.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn a way, yes. But there\u2019s more to it than that, you know. More than\u2014shall we say\u2014justice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t agree. There\u2019s the family to consider.\u201d<\/p>\n

And the other had said quickly: \u201cQuite\u2014oh, yes\u2014quite. I was<\/span><\/span> thinking of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which seemed to Calgary nonsense! Because if one were thinking of them<\/span><\/span>\u2014<\/p>\n

But immediately the other man had said, his pleasant voice unchanged:<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s entirely up to you, Dr. Calgary. You must, of course, do exactly as you feel you have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boat grounded on the beach. He had crossed the Rubicon.<\/p>\n

The ferryman\u2019s soft West Country voice said:<\/p>\n

\u201cThat will be fourpence, sir, or do you want a return?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Calgary said. \u201cThere will be no return.\u201d (How fateful the words sounded!)<\/p>\n

He paid. Then he asked:<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know a house called Sunny Point?\u201d<\/p>\n

Immediately the curiosity ceased to be veiled. The interest in the old man\u2019s eyes leaped up avidly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, surely. \u2019Tis there, up along to your right\u2014you can just see it through them trees. You go up the hill and along the road to the right, and then take the new road through the building estate. \u2019Tis the last house\u2014at the very end.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did say Sunny Point, sir? Where Mrs. Argyle\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes\u2014\u201d Calgary cut him short. He didn\u2019t want to discuss the matter. \u201cSunny Point.\u201d<\/p>\n

A slow and rather peculiar smile twisted the ferryman\u2019s lips. He looked suddenly like an ancient sly faun.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was her<\/span><\/span> called the house that\u2014in the war. It were a new house, of course, only just been built\u2014hadn\u2019t got a name. But the ground \u2019tis built on\u2014that wooded spit\u2014Viper\u2019s Point, that is! But Viper\u2019s Point wouldn\u2019t do for her<\/span><\/span>\u2014not for the name of her house. Called it Sunny Point, she did. But Viper\u2019s Point\u2019s what we<\/span><\/span> allus call it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Calgary thanked him brusquely, said good evening, and started up the hill. Everyone seemed to be inside their houses, but he had the fancy that unseen eyes were peering through the windows of the cottages; all watching him with the knowledge of where he was going. Saying to each other, \u201cHe\u2019s going to Viper\u2019s Point\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

Viper\u2019s Point<\/span><\/span>. What a horrible apposite name that must have seemed\u2026.<\/p>\n

For sharper than a serpent\u2019s tooth\u2026.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He checked his thoughts brusquely. He must pull himself together and make up his mind exactly what he was going to say\u2026.<\/p>\n

II<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

Calgary came to the end of the nice new road with the nice new houses on either side of it, each with its eighth of an acre of garden; rock plants, chrysanthemums, roses, salvias, geraniums, each owner displaying his or her individual garden taste.<\/p>\n

At the end of the road was a gate with sunny point in Gothic letters on it. He opened the gate, passed through, and went along a short drive. The house was there ahead of him, a well-built, characterless modern house, gabled and porched. It might have stood on any good-class suburban site, or a new development anywhere. It was unworthy, in Calgary\u2019s opinion, of its view. For the view was magnificent. The river here curved sharply round the point almost turning back on itself. Wooded hills rose opposite; up-stream to the left was a further bend of the river with meadows and orchards in the distance.<\/p>\n

Calgary looked for a moment up and down the river. One should have built a castle here, he thought, an impossible, ridiculous, fairy tale castle! The sort of castle that might be made of gingerbread or of frosted sugar. Instead there was good taste, restraint, moderation, plenty of money and absolutely no imagination.<\/p>\n

For that, naturally, one did not blame the Argyles. They had only bought the house, not built it. Still, they or one of them (Mrs. Argyle?) had chosen it\u2026.<\/p>\n

He said to himself: \u201cYou can\u2019t put it off any longer \u2026\u201d<\/span><\/span> and pressed the electric bell beside the door.<\/p>\n

He stood there, waiting. After a decent interval he pressed the bell again.<\/p>\n

He heard no footsteps inside but, without warning, the door swung suddenly open.<\/p>\n

He moved back a step, startled. To his already overstimulated imagination, it seemed as though Tragedy herself stood there barring his way. It was a young face; indeed it was in the poignancy of its youth that tragedy had its very essence. The Tragic Mask, he thought, should always be a mask of youth \u2026 Helpless, fore-ordained, with doom approaching \u2026 from the future\u2026.<\/p>\n

Rallying himself, he thought, rationalizing: \u201cIrish type.\u201d The deep blue of the eyes, the dark shadow round them, the upspringing black hair, the mournful beauty of the bones of the skull and cheekbones\u2014<\/p>\n

The girl stood there, young, watchful and hostile.<\/p>\n

She said:<\/p>\n

\u201cYes? What do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

He replied conventionally.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs Mr. Argyle in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. But he doesn\u2019t see people. I mean, people he doesn\u2019t know. He doesn\u2019t know you, does he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. He doesn\u2019t know me, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

She began to close the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you\u2019d better write\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, but I particularly want to see him. Are you\u2014Miss Argyle?\u201d<\/p>\n

She admitted it grudgingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Hester Argyle, yes. But my father doesn\u2019t see people\u2014not without an appointment. You\u2019d better write.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve come a long way \u2026\u201d She was unmoved.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey all say that. But I thought this kind of thing had stopped at last.\u201d She went on accusingly, \u201cYou\u2019re a reporter, I suppose?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, nothing of the sort.\u201d<\/p>\n

She eyed him suspiciously as though she did not believe him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, what do you want then?\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind her, some way back in the hall, he saw another face. A flat homely face. Describing it, he would have called it a face like a pancake, the face of a middle-aged woman, with frizzy yellowish grey hair plastered on top of her head. She seemed to hover, waiting, like a watchful dragon.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt concerns your brother, Miss Argyle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hester Argyle drew in her breath sharply. She said, without belief, \u201cMichael?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, your brother Jack.\u201d<\/p>\n

She burst out: \u201cI knew it! I knew<\/span><\/span> you\u2019d come about Jacko! Why can\u2019t you leave us in peace? It\u2019s all over and finished with. Why go on about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can never really say that anything is finished.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut this is<\/span><\/span> finished! Jacko is dead. Why can\u2019t you let him be? All that\u2019s over.<\/span><\/span> If you\u2019re not a journalist, I suppose you\u2019re a doctor, or a psychologist, or something. Please go away. My father can\u2019t be disturbed. He\u2019s busy.\u201d<\/p>\n

She began to close the door. In a hurry, Calgary did what he ought to have done at first, pulled out the letter from his pocket and thrust it towards her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a letter here\u2014from Mr. Marshall.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was taken aback. Her fingers closed doubtfully on the envelope. She said uncertainly:<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom Mr. Marshall\u2014in London?\u201d<\/p>\n

She was joined now suddenly by the middle-aged woman who had been lurking in the recesses of the hall. She peered at Calgary suspiciously and he was reminded of foreign convents. Of course, this should have been a nun\u2019s face! It demanded the crisp white coif or whatever you called it, framed tightly round the face, and the black habit and veil. It was the face, not of a contemplative, but of the lay-sister who peers at you suspiciously through the little opening in the thick door, before grudgingly admitting you and taking you to the visiting parlour, or to Reverend Mother.<\/p>\n

She said: \u201cYou come from Mr. Marshall?\u201d<\/p>\n

She made it almost an accusation.<\/p>\n

Hester was staring down at the envelope in her hand. Then, without a word, she turned and ran up the stairs.<\/p>\n

Calgary remained on the doorstep, sustaining the accusing and suspicious glance of the dragon-cumlay-sister.<\/p>\n

He cast about for something to say, but he could not think of anything. Prudently, therefore, he remained silent.<\/p>\n

Presently Hester\u2019s voice, cool and aloof, floated down to them.<\/p>\n

\u201cFather says he\u2019s to come up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Somewhat unwillingly, his watchdog moved aside. Her expression of suspicion did not alter. He passed her, laid his hat on a chair, and mounted the stairs to where Hester stood waiting for him.<\/p>\n

The inside of the house struck him as vaguely hygienic. It could almost, he thought, have been an expensive nursing home.<\/p>\n

Hester led him along a passage and down three steps. Then she threw open a door and gestured to him to pass through it. She came in behind him, closing the door after her.<\/p>\n

The room was a library, and Calgary raised his head with a sense of pleasure. The atmosphere of this room was quite different from the rest of the house. This was a room where a man lived,<\/span><\/span> where he both worked and took his ease. The walls were lined with books, the chairs were large, rather shabby, but easeful. There was a pleasant disorder of papers on the desk, of books lying about on tables. He had a momentary glimpse of a young woman who was leaving the room by a door at the far end, rather an attractive young woman. Then his attention was taken by the man who rose and came to greet him, the open letter in his hand.<\/p>\n

Calgary\u2019s first impression of Leo Argyle was that he was so attenuated, so transparent, as hardly to be there at all. A wraith of a man! His voice when he spoke was pleasant, though lacking in resonance.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Calgary?\u201d he said. \u201cDo sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n

Calgary sat. He accepted a cigarette. His host sat down opposite him. All was done without hurry, as though in a world where time meant very little. There was a faint gentle smile on Leo Argyle\u2019s face as he spoke, tapping the letter gently with a bloodless finger as he did so.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Marshall writes that you have an important communication to make to us, though he doesn\u2019t specify its nature.\u201d His smile deepened as he added: \u201cLawyers are always so careful not to commit themselves, aren\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n

It occurred to Calgary with a faint shock of surprise, that this man confronting him was a happy man. Not buoyantly or zestfully happy, as is the normal way of happiness\u2014but happy in some shadowy but satisfactory retreat of his own. This was a man on whom the outer world did not impinge and who was contented that this should be so. He did not know why he should be surprised by this\u2014but he was.<\/p>\n

Calgary said:<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is very kind of you to see me.\u201d The words were a mere mechanical introduction. \u201cI thought it better to come in person than to write.\u201d He paused\u2014then said in a sudden rush of agitation, \u201cIt is difficult\u2014very difficult\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo take your time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Leo Argyle was still polite and remote.<\/p>\n

He leaned forward; in his gentle way he was obviously trying to help.<\/p>\n

\u201cSince you bring this letter from Marshall, I presume that your visit has to do with my unfortunate son Jacko\u2014Jack, I mean\u2014Jacko was our own name for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

All Calgary\u2019s carefully prepared words and phrases had deserted him. He sat here, faced with the appalling reality of what he had to tell. He stammered again.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s so terribly difficult\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a moment\u2019s silence, and then Leo said cautiously:<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it helps you\u2014we\u2019re quite aware that Jacko was\u2014hardly a normal personality. Nothing that you have to tell us will be likely to surprise us. Terrible as the tragedy was, I have been fully convinced all along that Jacko was not really responsible for his actions.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course he wasn\u2019t.\u201d It was Hester, and Calgary started at the sound of her voice. He had momentarily forgotten about her. She had sat down on the arm of a chair just behind his left shoulder. As he turned his head, she leaned forward eagerly towards him.<\/p>\n

\u201cJacko was always awful,\u201d she said confidentially. \u201cHe was just the same as a little boy\u2014when he lost his temper, I mean. Just caught up anything he could find and\u2014and went for you\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHester\u2014Hester\u2014my dear.\u201d Argyle\u2019s voice was distressed.<\/p>\n

Startled, the girl\u2019s hand flew to her lips. She flushed and spoke with the sudden awkwardness of youth.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean\u2014I forgot\u2014I\u2014I oughtn\u2019t to have said a thing like that\u2014not now that he\u2019s\u2014I mean, now that it\u2019s all over and \u2026 and\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOver and done with,\u201d said Argyle. \u201cAll of this is in the past. I try\u2014we all try\u2014to feel that the boy must be regarded as an invalid. One of Nature\u2019s misfits. That, I think, expresses it best.\u201d He looked at Calgary. \u201cYou agree?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Calgary.<\/p>\n

There was a moment\u2019s silence. The sharp negative had taken both his listeners aback. It had come out with almost explosive force. Trying to mitigate its effect, he said awkwardly:<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014I\u2019m sorry. You see, you don\u2019t understand yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh!\u201d Argyle seemed to consider. Then he turned his head towards his daughter. \u201cHester, I think perhaps you\u2019d better leave us\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going away! I\u2019ve got to hear\u2014to know what it\u2019s all about.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt may be unpleasant\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Hester cried out impatiently:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does it matter what other awful things Jacko may have done? That\u2019s all over.<\/span><\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

Calgary spoke quickly.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease believe me\u2014there is no question of anything that your brother has done\u2014quite the opposite.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The door at the far end of the room opened and the young woman whom Calgary had just glimpsed earlier came back into the room. She wore an outdoor coat now, and carried a small attach\u00e9-case.<\/p>\n

She spoke to Argyle.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going now. Is there anything else\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a momentary hesitation on Argyle\u2019s part (he would always hesitate, Calgary thought) and then he laid a hand on her arm and drew her forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit down, Gwenda,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is\u2014er\u2014Dr. Calgary. This is Miss Vaughan, who is who is\u2014\u201d Again he paused as though in doubt. \u201cWho has been my secretary for some years now.\u201d He added: \u201cDr. Calgary has come to tell us something\u2014or\u2014ask us something\u2014about Jacko\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo tell you something,\u201d Calgary interrupted. \u201cAnd although you don\u2019t realize it, every moment you are making it more difficult for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

They all looked at him in some surprise, but in Gwenda Vaughan\u2019s eyes, he saw a flicker of something that looked like comprehension. It was as though he and she were momentarily in alliance, as though she had said: \u201cYes\u2014I know how difficult the Argyles can be.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was<\/span><\/span> an attractive young woman, he thought, though not so very young\u2014perhaps thirty-seven or eight. A well-rounded figure, dark hair and eyes, a general air of vitality and good health. She gave the impression of being both competent and intelligent.<\/p>\n

Argyle said with a frosty touch in his manner: \u201cI am not at all aware of making things difficult for you, Dr. Calgary. Such was certainly not my intention. If you will come to the point\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I know. Forgive me for saying what I did. But it is the persistence with which you\u2014and your daughter\u2014are continually underlining that things are now over\u2014done with\u2014finished<\/span><\/span>. They are not<\/span><\/span> over. Who is it who said: \u2018Nothing is ever settled until\u2014<\/span><\/span>\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Until it is settled right,\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/span> Miss Vaughan finished for him. \u201cKipling.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded at him encouragingly. He felt grateful to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019ll come to the point,\u201d Calgary went on. \u201cWhen you\u2019ve heard what I have to say, you\u2019ll understand my\u2014my reluctance. More, my distress. To begin with, I must mention a few things about myself. I am a geophysicist, and have recently formed part of an Antarctic expedition. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Hayes Bentley Expedition?\u201d asked Gwenda.<\/p>\n

He turned towards her gratefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. It was the Hayes Bentley Expedition. I tell you this to explain my background, and also to explain that I have been out of touch for about two years with\u2014with current events.\u201d<\/p>\n

She went on helping him:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean\u2014with such things as murder trials?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Miss Vaughan, that is exactly what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned to Argyle.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease forgive me if this is painful, but I must just check over with you certain times and dates. On November 9th, the year before last, at about six o\u2019clock in the evening, your son, Jack Argyle (Jacko to you), called here and had an interview with his mother, Mrs. Argyle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told her that he was in trouble and demanded money. This had happened before\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMany times,\u201d said Leo with a sigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Argyle refused. He became abusive, threatening. Finally he flung away and left, shouting out that he was coming back and that she had \u2018jolly well got<\/span><\/span> to stump up.\u2019 He said, \u2018You don\u2019t want me to go to prison, do you?\u2019 and she replied, \u2018I am beginning to believe that it may be the best thing for you.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Leo Argyle moved uneasily.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife and I had talked it over together. We were\u2014very unhappy about the boy. Again and again we had come to his rescue, tried to give him a fresh start. It had seemed to us that perhaps the shock of a prison sentence\u2014the training\u2014\u201d His voice died away. \u201cBut please go on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Calgary went on:<\/p>\n

\u201cLater that evening, your wife was killed. Attacked with a poker and struck down. Your son\u2019s fingerprints were on the poker, and a large sum of money was gone from the bureau drawer where your wife had placed it earlier. The police picked up your son in Drymouth. The money was found on him, most of it was in five-pound notes, one of which had a name and address written on it which enabled it to be identified by the bank as one that had been paid out to Mrs. Argyle that morning. He was charged and stood his trial.\u201d Calgary paused. \u201cThe verdict was wilful murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was out\u2014the fateful word. Murder<\/span><\/span>\u2026 Not an echoing word; a stifled word, a word that got absorbed into the hangings, the books, the pile carpet \u2026 The word could be stifled\u2014but not the act\u2026.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have been given to understand by Mr. Marshall, the solicitor for the defence, that your son protested his innocence when arrested, in a cheery, not to say cocksure manner. He insisted that he had a perfect alibi for the time of the murder which was placed by the police at between seven and seven-thirty. At that time, Jack Argyle said, he was hitchhiking into Drymouth, having been picked up by a car on the main road from Redmyn to Drymouth about a mile from here just before seven. He didn\u2019t know the make of the car (it was dark by then) but it was a black or dark blue saloon driven by a middle-aged man. Every effort was made to trace this car and the man who drove it, but no confirmation of his statement could be obtained, and the lawyers themselves were quite convinced that it was a story hastily fabricated by the boy and not very cleverly fabricated at that\u2026.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt the trial the main line of defence was the evidence of psychologists who sought to prove that Jack Argyle had always been mentally unstable. The judge was somewhat scathing in his comments on this evidence and summed up dead against the prisoner. Jack Argyle was sentenced to imprisonment for life. He died of pneumonia in prison six months after he began to serve his sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Calgary stopped. Three pairs of eyes were fastened on him. Interest and close attention in Gwenda Vaughan\u2019s, suspicion still in Hester\u2019s. Leo Argyle\u2019s seemed blank.<\/p>\n

Calgary said, \u201cYou will confirm that I have stated the facts correctly?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are perfectly correct,\u201d said Leo, \u201cthough I do not yet see why it has been necessary to go over painful facts which we are all trying to forget.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me. I had to do so. You do not, I gather, dissent from the verdict?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI admit that the facts<\/span><\/span> were as stated\u2014that is, if you do not go behind the facts, it was, crudely, murder. But if you do<\/span><\/span> go behind the facts, there is much to be said in mitigation. The boy was mentally unstable, though unfortunately not in the legal sense of the term. The McNaughten rules are narrow and unsatisfactory. I assure you, Dr. Calgary, that Rachel herself\u2014my late wife, I mean\u2014would have been the first to forgive and excuse that unfortunate boy for his rash act. She was a most advanced and humane thinker and had a profound knowledge of pyschological factors. She<\/span><\/span> would not have condemned.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe knew just how awful Jacko could be,\u201d said Hester. \u201cHe always was\u2014he just didn\u2019t seem able to help it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you all,\u201d said Calgary slowly, \u201chad no doubts? No doubts of his guilt, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hester stared.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow could we? Of course he was guilty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really guilty,<\/span><\/span>\u201d Leo dissented. \u201cI don\u2019t like that word.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t a true word, either.\u201d Calgary took a deep breath. \u201cJack Argyle was\u2014innocent!\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

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Book Preview One \u00a0 I \u00a0 It was dusk when he came to the Ferry. He could have been there much earlier. The truth was, he had put it off as long as he could. First his luncheon with friends in Redquay; the light desultory conversation, the interchange of gossip about mutual friends\u2014all that had … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2394,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2395","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-agatha-christie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2395","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2395"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2395\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2394"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2395"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2395"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2395"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}