The Hollow by Agatha Christie Page A

indifferent to the health of his own family. He always ridiculed any suggestions of illness.
    â€œI sneezed eight times before lunch,” said Zena importantly.
    â€œHeat sneeze!” said John.
    â€œIt’s not hot,” said Terence. “The thermometer in the hall is 55.”
    John got up. “Have we finished? Good, let’s get on. Ready to start, Gerda?”
    â€œIn a minute, John. I’ve just a few things to put in.”
    â€œSurely you could have done that before. What have you been doing all the morning?”
    He went out of the dining room fuming. Gerda had hurried off into her bedroom. Her anxiety to be quick would make her much slower. But why couldn’t she have been ready? His own suitcase was packed and in the hall. Why on earth—
    Zena was advancing on him, clasping some rather sticky cards.
    â€œCan I tell your fortune, Daddy? I know how. I’ve told Mother’s and Terry’s and Lewis’s and Jane’s and Cook’s.”
    â€œAll right.”
    He wondered how long Gerda was going to be. He wanted to get away from this horrible house and this horrible street and this city full of ailing, sniffing, diseased people. He wanted to get to woods and wet leaves—and the graceful aloofness of Lucy Angkatell, who always gave you the impression she hadn’t even got a body.
    Zena was importantly dealing out cards.
    â€œThat’s you in the middle, Father, the King of Hearts. The person whose fortune’s told is always the King of Hearts. And then I deal the others face down. Two on the left of you and two on the right of you and one over your head—that has power over you, and one under your feet—you have power over it. And this one—covers you!
    â€œ Now. ” Zena drew a deep breath. “We turn them over. On the right of you is the Queen of Diamonds—quite close.”
    â€œHenrietta,” he thought, momentarily diverted and amused by Zena’s solemnity.
    â€œAnd the next one is the knave of clubs—he’s some quiet young man.
    â€œOn the left of you is the eight of spades—that’s a secret enemy. Have you got a secret enemy, Father?”
    â€œNot that I know of.”
    â€œAnd beyond is the Queen of Spades—that’s a much older lady.”
    â€œLady Angkatell,” he said.
    â€œNow this is what’s over your head and has power over you—the Queen of Hearts.”
    â€œVeronica,” he thought. “Veronica!” And then, “What a fool I am! Veronica doesn’t mean a thing to me now.”
    â€œAnd this is under your feet and you have power over it—the Queen of Clubs.”
    Gerda hurried into the room.
    â€œI’m quite ready now, John.”
    â€œOh, wait, Mother, wait, I’m telling Daddy’s fortune. Just the last card, Daddy—the most important of all. The one that covers you.”
    Zena’s small sticky fingers turned it over. She gave a gasp.
    â€œOh—it’s the Ace of Spades! That’s usually a death —but—”
    â€œYour mother,” said John, “is going to run over someone on the way out of London. Come on, Gerda. Good-bye, you two. Try and behave.”

Six
    I
    M idge Hardcastle came downstairs about eleven on Saturday morning. She had had breakfast in bed and had read a book and dozed a little and then got up.
    It was nice lazing this way. About time she had a holiday! No doubt about it, Madame Alfrege’s got on your nerves.
    She came out of the front door into the pleasant autumn sunshine. Sir Henry Angkatell was sitting on a rustic seat reading The Times. He looked up and smiled. He was fond of Midge.
    â€œHallo, my dear.”
    â€œAm I very late?”
    â€œYou haven’t missed lunch,” said Sir Henry, smiling.
    Midge sat down beside him and said with a sigh:
    â€œIt’s nice being here.”
    â€œYou’re looking rather peaked.”
    â€œOh, I’m all