By the Pricking of My Thumbs. Агата Кристи

don’t even know where I’m going yet,’ said Tuppence.

      ‘I see,’ said Albert.

      The comfortable thing about Albert was that he always accepted everything. Nothing ever had to be explained to him.

      He went away and Tuppence settled down to her planning—what she wanted was: a social engagement involving a hat and party shoes. Unfortunately the ones she had listed involved different railway lines—One wedding on the Southern Railway, the other in East Anglia. The christening north of Bedford.

      If she could remember a little more about the scenery… She had been sitting on the right-hand side of the train. What had she been looking at before the canal—Woods? Trees? Farmland? A distant village?

      Straining her brain, she looked up with a frown—Albert had come back. How far she was at that moment from knowing that Albert standing there waiting for attention was neither more nor less than an answer to prayer—

      ‘Well, what is it now, Albert?’

      ‘If it’s that you’re going to be away all day tomorrow—’

      ‘And the day after as well, probably—’

      ‘Would it be all right for me to have the day off?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      ‘It’s Elizabeth—come out in spots she has. Milly thinks it’s measles—’

      ‘Oh dear.’ Milly was Albert’s wife and Elizabeth was the youngest of his children. ‘So Milly wants you at home, of course.’