The Hound of Death: An Agatha Christie Short Story
‘Naturally. All the same, in case your sister does know anything I’ll be glad if you pass it on to me.’
‘Of course I will,’ I said heartily.
And that was that.
It was the second day after my arrival at Trearne that the story recurred to me. My sister and I were having tea on the terrace.
‘Kitty,’ I said, ‘didn’t you have a nun among your Belgians?’
‘You don’t mean Sister Marie Angelique, do you?’
‘Possibly I do,’ I said cautiously. ‘Tell me about her.’
‘Oh! my dear, she was the most uncanny creature. She’s still here, you know.’
‘What? In the house?’
‘No, no, in the village. Dr Rose – you remember Dr Rose?’
I shook my head.
‘I remember an old man of about eighty-three.’
‘Dr Laird. Oh! he died. Dr Rose has only been here a few years. He’s quite young and very keen on new ideas. He took the most enormous interest in Sister Marie Angelique. She has hallucinations and things, you know, and apparently is most frightfully interesting from a medical point of view. Poor thing, she’d nowhere to go – and really was in my opinion quite potty – only impressive, if you know what I mean – well, as I say, she’d nowhere to go, and Dr Rose very kindly fixed her up in the village. I believe he’s writing a monograph or whatever it is that doctors write, about her.’
She paused and then said:
‘But what do you know about her?’
‘I heard a rather curious story.’
I passed on the story as I had received it from Ryan. Kitty was very much interested.
‘She looks the sort of person who could blast you – if you know what I mean,’ she said.
‘I really think,’ I said, my curiosity heightened, ‘that I must see this young woman.’
‘Do. I’d like to know what you think of her. Go and see Dr Rose first. Why not walk down to the village after tea?’