Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie Page B

got to look for. He was a new man—Sir Bartholomew had only had him a fortnight, and the moment after the crime he disappears—vanishes into thin air. That looks a bit fishy, doesn’t it? Eh, what?”
    â€œYou’ve no notion where he went?”
    Colonel Johnson’s naturally red face got a little redder.
    â€œNegligence on our part, you think. I admit it damn’ well looks like it. Naturally the fellow was under observation—just the same as everyone else. He answered our questions quite satisfactorily—gave the London agency which obtained him the place. Last employer, Sir Horace Bird. All very civil spoken, no signs of panic. Next thing was he’d gone—and the house under observation. I’ve hauled my men over the coals, but they swear they didn’t bat an eyelid.”
    â€œVery remarkable,” said Mr. Satterthwaite.
    â€œApart from everything else,” said Sir Charles thoughtfully, “it seems a damn’ fool thing to do. As far as he knew, the man wasn’t suspected. By bolting he draws attention to himself.”
    â€œExactly. And not a hope of escape. His description’s been circulated. It’s only a matter of days before he’s pulled in.”
    â€œVery odd,” said Sir Charles. “I don’t understand it.”
    â€œOh, the reason’s clear enough. He lost his nerve. Got the wind up suddenly.”
    â€œWouldn’t a man who had the nerve to commit murder have the nerve to sit still afterward?”
    â€œDepends. Depends. I know criminals. Chicken-livered, most of them. He thought he was suspected, and he bolted.”
    â€œHave you verified his own account of himself?”
    â€œNaturally, Sir Charles. That’s plain routine work. London Agency confirms his story. He had a written reference from Sir Horace Bird, recommending him warmly. Sir Horace himself is in East Africa.”
    â€œSo the reference might have been forged?”
    â€œExactly,” said Colonel Johnson, beaming upon Sir Charles, with the air of a schoolmaster congratulating a bright pupil. “We’ve wired to Sir Horace, of course, but it may be some little time before we get a reply. He’s on safari.”
    â€œWhen did the man disappear?”
    â€œMorning after the death. There was a doctor present at the dinner—Sir Jocelyn Campbell—bit of a toxicologist, I understand; he and Davis (local man) agreed over the case, and our people were called in immediately. We interviewed everybody that night. Ellis (that’s the butler) went to his room as usual and was missing in the morning. His bed hadn’t been slept in.”
    â€œHe slipped away under cover of the darkness?”
    â€œSeems so. One of the ladies staying there, Miss Sutcliffe, the actress—you know her, perhaps?”
    â€œVery well, indeed.”
    â€œMiss Sutcliffe has made a suggestion to us. She suggested that the man had left the house through a secret passage.” He blewhis nose apologetically. “Sounds rather Edgar Wallace stuff, but it seems there was such a thing. Sir Bartholomew was rather proud of it. He showed it to Miss Sutcliffe. The end of it comes out among some fallen masonry about half a mile away.”
    â€œThat would be a possible explanation, certainly,” agreed Sir Charles. “Only—would the butler know of the existence of such a passage?”
    â€œThat’s the point, of course. My missus always says servants know everything. Daresay she’s right.”
    â€œI understand the poison was nicotine,” said Mr. Satterthwaite.
    â€œThat’s right. Most unusual stuff to use, I believe. Comparatively rare. I understand if a man’s a heavy smoker, such as the doctor was, it would tend to complicate matters. I mean, he might have died of nicotine poisoning in a natural way. Only, of course, this business was too sudden for that.”
    â€œHow was it