The Sittaford Mystery. Agatha Christie

reflected on his next course of action and decided on interviewing the late Captain Trevelyan’s servant, Evans, whose name Major Burnaby had incautiously let slip during their conversation.

      A few inquiries brought him to 85 Fore Street. The servant of the murdered man was a person of importance today. Everyone was willing and anxious to point out where he lived.

      Enderby beat a smart rat-tat on the door. It was opened by a man so typically an ex-sailor that Enderby had no doubt of his identity.

      ‘Evans, isn’t it?’ said Enderby cheerfully. ‘I have just come along from Major Burnaby.’

      ‘Oh—’ Evans hesitated a moment. ‘Will you come in, sir.’

      Enderby accepted the invitation. A buxom young woman with dark hair and red cheeks hovered in the background. Enderby judged her as the newly-wed Mrs Evans.

      ‘Bad thing about your late master,’ said Enderby.

      ‘It’s shocking, sir, that’s what it is.’

      ‘Who do you think did it?’ demanded Enderby with an ingenuous air of seeking information.

      ‘One of those low-down tramps, I suppose,’ said Evans.

      ‘Oh! no, my dearman. That theory is quite exploded.’

      ‘Eh?’

      ‘That’s all a put-up job. The police saw through that at once.’

      ‘Who told you that, sir?’

      Enderby’s real informant had been the housemaid at the Three Crowns whose sister was the legal spouse of Constable Graves, but he replied:

      ‘Had a tip from headquarters. Yes, the burglary idea was all a put-up job.’

      ‘Who do they think did it then?’ demanded Mrs Evans, coming forward. Her eyes looked frightened and eager.

      ‘Now, Rebecca, don’t you take on so,’ said her husband.

      ‘Cruel stupid the police are,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘Don’t mind who they take up as long as they get hold of someone.’ She cast a quick glance at Enderby.

      ‘Are you connected with the police, sir?’

      ‘Me? Oh! no. I am from a newspaper, the Daily Wire. I came down to see Major Burnaby. He has just won our Free Football Competition for £5,000.’

      ‘What?’ cried Evans. ‘Damn it all, then those things are square after all.’

      ‘Didn’t you think they were?’ asked Enderby.

      ‘Well, it’s a wicked world, sir.’ Evans was a little confused, feeling that his exclamation had been wanting in tact. ‘I have heard there’s a lot of trickery concerned. The late Capting used to say that a prize never went to a good address. That’s why he used mine time and again.’

      With a certain naïveté he described the Captain’s winning of three new novels.

      Enderby encouraged him to talk. He saw a very good story being made out of Evans. The faithful servant—old sea dog touch. He wondered just a little why Mrs Evans seemed so nervous, he put it down to the suspicious ignorance of her class.

      ‘You find the skunk that done it,’ said Evans. ‘Newspapers can do a lot, they say, in hunting down criminals.’

      ‘It was a burglar,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘That’s what it was.’

      ‘Of course, it was a burglar,’ said Evans. ‘Why, there’s no one in Exhampton would want to harm the Capting.’

      Enderby rose.

      ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I must be going. I will run in now and then and have a little chat if I may. If the Captain won three new novels in a Daily Wire Competition, the Daily Wire ought to make it a personal matter to hunt down his murderer.’

      ‘You can’t say fairer than that, sir. No, you can’t say fairer than that.’