Agatha Christie by The Love Detectives (SS) Page B

Satterthwaite.
    â€˜What an odd name for an inn.’
    â€˜Only an old one,’ said Mr Quin. ‘There was a time, remember, when bells and motley were more common in England than they are nowadays.’
    â€˜I suppose so, yes, no doubt you are right,’ said Melrose vaguely. He blinked. By a curious effect of light – the headlights of one car and the red tail-light of the other – Mr Quin seemed for a moment to be dressed in motley himself. But it was only the light.
    â€˜We can’t leave you here stranded on the road,’ continued Mr Satterthwaite. ‘You must come along with us. There’s plenty of room for three, isn’t there, Melrose?’
    â€˜Oh rather.’ But the colonel’s voice was a little doubtful. ‘The only thing is,’ he remarked, ‘the job we’re on. Eh, Satterthwaite?’
    Mr Satterthwaite stood stock-still. Ideas leaped and flashed over him. He positively shook with excitement.
    â€˜No,’ he cried. ‘No, I should have known better! There is no chance where you are concerned, Mr Quin. It was not an accident that we all met tonight at the crossroads.’
    Colonel Melrose stared at his friend in astonishment. Mr Satterthwaite took him by the arm.
    â€˜You remember what I told you – about our friend Derek Capel? The motive for his suicide, which no one could guess? It was Mr Quin who solved that problem – and there have been others since. He shows you things that are there all the time, but which you haven’t seen. He’s marvellous.’
    â€˜My dear Satterthwaite, you are making me blush,’ said Mr Quin, smiling. ‘As far as I can remember, these discoveries were all made by you, not by me.’
    â€˜They were made because you were there,’ said Mr Satterthwaite with intense conviction.
    â€˜Well,’ said Colonel Melrose, clearing his throat uncomfortably. ‘We mustn’t waste any more time. Let’s get on.’
    He climbed into the driver’s seat. He was not too well pleased at having the stranger foisted upon him through Mr Satterthwaite’s enthusiasm, but he had no valid objection to offer, and he was anxious to get on to Alderway as fast as possible.
    Mr Satterthwaite urged Mr Quin in next, and himself took the outside seat. The car was a roomy one and took three without undue squeezing.
    â€˜So you are interested in crime, Mr Quin?’ said the colonel, doing his best to be genial.
    â€˜No, not exactly in crime.’
    â€˜What, then?’
    Mr Quin smiled. ‘Let us ask Mr Satterthwaite. He is a very shrewd observer.’
    â€˜I think,’ said Satterthwaite slowly, ‘I may be wrong, but I think – that Mr Quin is interested in – lovers.’
    He blushed as he said the last word, which is one no Englishman can pronounce without self-consciousness. Mr Satterthwaite brought it out apologetically, and with an effect of inverted commas.
    â€˜By gad!’ said the colonel, startled and silenced.
    He reflected inwardly that this seemed to be a very rum friend of Satterthwaite’s. He glanced at him sideways. The fellow looked all right – quite a normal young chap. Rather dark, but not at all foreign-looking.
    â€˜And now,’ said Satterthwaite importantly, ‘I must tell you all about the case.’
    He talked for some ten minutes. Sitting there in the darkness, rushing through the night, he had an intoxicating feeling of power. What did it matter if he were only a looker-on at life? He had words at his command, he was master of them, he could string them to a pattern – a strange Renaissance pattern composed of the beauty of Laura Dwighton, with her white arms and red hair – and the shadowy dark figure of Paul Delangua, whom women found handsome.
    Set that against the background of Alderway – Alderway that had stood since the days of Henry VII and, some said, before that. Alderway that was English to the