Three Blind Mice – Agatha Christie
Mrs Casey, her hands busy in the sink, said bitterly, “Drat that bell. Never any peace, there isn’t.”
Wheezing a little, she toiled up the basement stairs and opened the door.
The man standing silhouetted against the lowering sky outside asked in a whisper, “Mrs Lyon?”
“Second floor,” said Mrs Casey. “You can go on up. Does she expect you?”
The man slowly shook his head.
“Oh, well, go on up and knock.”
She watched him as he went up the shabbily carpeted stairs.
Afterward she said, he “gave her a funny feeling.” But actually all she thought was that he must have a pretty bad cold only to be able to whisper like that – and no wonder with the weather what it was.
When the man got round the bend of the staircase he began to whistle softly. The tune he whistled was “Three Blind Mice.”
Molly Davis stepped back into the road and looked up at the newly painted board by the gate.
MONKSWELL MANOR GUESTHOUSE
She nodded approval. It looked, it really did look, quite professional. Or, perhaps, one might say almost professional. The T of Guest House staggered uphill a little, and the end of Manor was slightly crowded, but on the whole Giles had made a wonderful job of it.
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