Unexpected Guest by Agatha Christie Page A

side of the house.’
    â€˜Wasn’t that rather awkward, in case your master wanted to summon you?’
    â€˜Oh no, sir,’ said Angell. ‘He had a bell that rang in my room.’
    â€˜But he didn’t press that bell last night at all?’
    â€˜Oh no, sir,’ Angell repeated. ‘If he had done so, I would have woken up at once. It is, if I may say so, a very loud bell, sir.’
    Inspector Thomas leaned forward on the arm of the sofa to approach Angell in another way.
    â€˜Did you–’ he began in a voice of controlled impatience, only to be interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. He waited for Sergeant Cadwallader to answer it, but the sergeant appeared to be dreamingwith his eyes open and his lips moving soundlessly, perhaps immersed in some poetic reflection. After a moment, he realized that the inspector was staring at him, and that the phone was ringing. ‘Sorry, sir, but a poem is on the way,’ he explained as he went to the desk to answer the phone. ‘Sergeant Cadwallader speaking,’ he said. There was a pause, and then he added, ‘Ah yes, indeed.’ After another pause, he turned to the inspector. ‘It’s the police at Norwich, sir.’
    Inspector Thomas took the phone from Cadwallader, and sat at the desk. ‘Is that you, Edmundson?’ he asked. ‘Thomas here…Got it, right…Yes…Calgary, yes…Yes…Yes, the aunt, when did she die?…Oh, two months ago…Yes, I see…Eighteen, Thirty-fourth Street, Calgary.’ He looked up impatiently at Cadwallader, and gestured to him to take a note of the address. ‘Yes…Oh, it was, was it?…Yes, slowly please.’ He looked meaningfully again at his sergeant. ‘Medium height,’ he repeated. ‘Blue eyes, dark hair and beard…Yes, as you say, you remember the case…Ah, he did, did he?…Violent sort of fellow?…Yes…You’re sending it along? Yes…Well, thank you, Edmundson. Tell me, what do you think, yourself?…Yes, yes, I know what the findings were, but what did you think yourself?…Ah, he had, had he?…Once or twice before…Yes, of course, you’d make some allowances…All right. Thanks.’
    He replaced the receiver and said to the sergeant, ‘Well, we’ve got some of the dope on MacGregor. It seems that, when his wife died, he travelled back to England from Canada to leave the child with an aunt of his wife’s who lived in North Walsham, because he had just got himself a job in Alaska and couldn’t take the boy with him. Apparently he was terribly cut up at the child’s death, and went about swearing revenge on Warwick. That’s not uncommon after one of these accidents. Anyway, he went off back to Canada. They’ve got his address, and they’ll send a cable off to Calgary. The aunt he was going to leave the child with died about two months ago.’ He turned suddenly to Angell. ‘You were there at the time, I suppose, Angell? Motor accident in North Walsham, running over a boy.’
    â€˜Oh yes, sir,’ Angell replied. ‘I remember it quite well.’
    The inspector got up from the desk and went across to the valet. Seeing the desk chair empty, Sergeant Cadwallader promptly took the opportunity to sit down. ‘What happened?’ the inspector asked Angell. ‘Tell me about the accident.’
    â€˜Mr Warwick was driving along the main street, and a little boy ran out of a house there,’ Angell told him. ‘Or it might have been the inn. I think it was. There was no chance of stopping. Mr Warwick ran over him before he could do a thing about it.’
    â€˜He was speeding, was he?’ asked the inspector.
    â€˜Oh no, sir. That was brought out very clearly at the inquest. Mr Warwick was well within the speed limit.’
    â€˜I know that’s what he said,’ the inspector commented.
    â€˜It was