N or M?

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by

Collins 1941

Agatha Christie® Tommy & Tuppence® N or M?™

Copyright © 1941 Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved.

www.agathachristie.com

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover illustration based on photograph © 2014 Endor Productions. Stills photographer: Robert Viglasky

Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007590612

Ebook Edition © Jan 2015 ISBN: 9780007422616

Version: 2017-04-17

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

Also by Agatha Christie

About the Publisher

Tommy Beresford removed his overcoat in the hall of the flat. He hung it up with some care, taking time over it. His hat went carefully on the next peg.

He squared his shoulders, affixed a resolute smile to his face and walked into the sitting-room, where his wife sat knitting a Balaclava helmet in khaki wool.

It was the spring of 1940.

Mrs Beresford gave him a quick glance and then busied herself by knitting at a furious rate. She said after a minute or two:

‘Any news in the evening paper?’

Tommy said:

‘The Blitzkrieg is coming, hurray, hurray! Things look bad in France.’

Tuppence said:

‘It’s a depressing world at the moment.’

There was a pause and then Tommy said:

‘Well, why don’t you ask? No need to be so damned tactful.’

‘I know,’ admitted Tuppence. ‘There is something about conscious tact that is very irritating. But then it irritates you if I do ask. And anyway I don’t need to ask. It’s written all over you.’

‘I wasn’t conscious of looking a Dismal Desmond.’

‘No, darling,’ said Tuppence. ‘You had a kind of nailed to the mast smile which was one of the most heartrending things I have ever seen.’

Tommy said with a grin:

‘No, was it really as bad as all that?’

‘And more! Well, come on, out with it. Nothing doing?’

‘Nothing doing. They don’t want me in any capacity. I tell you, Tuppence, it’s pretty thick when a man of forty-six is made to feel like a doddering grandfather. Army, Navy, Air Force, Foreign Office, one and all say the same thing—I’m too old. I may be required later.’

Tuppence said:

‘Well, it’s the same for me. They don’t want people of my age for nursing—no, thank you. Nor for anything else. They’d rather have a fluffy chit who’s never seen a wound or sterilised a dressing than they would have me who worked for three years, 1915 to 1918, in various capacities, nurse in the surgical ward and operating theatre, driver of a trade delivery van and later of a General. This, that and the other—all, I assert firmly, with conspicuous success. And now I’m a poor, pushing, tiresome, middle-aged woman who won’t sit at home quietly and knit as she ought to do.’

Tommy said gloomily:

‘This war is hell.’

‘It’s bad enough having a war,’ said Tuppence, ‘but not being allowed to do anything in it just puts the lid on.’

Tommy said consolingly:

‘Well, at any rate Deborah has got a job.’

Deborah’s mother said:

‘Oh, she’s all right. I expect she’s good at it, too. But I still think, Tommy, that I could hold my own with Deborah.’

Tommy grinned.

‘She wouldn’t think so.’

Tuppence said:

‘Daughters can be very trying. Especially when they will be so kind to you.’

Tommy murmured:

‘The way young Derek makes allowances for me is sometimes rather hard to bear. That “poor old Dad” look in his eye.’

‘In fact,’ said Tuppence, ‘our children, although quite adorable, are also quite maddening.’

But at the mention of the twins, Derek and Deborah, her eyes were very tender.

‘I suppose,’ said Tommy thoughtfully, ‘that it’s always hard for people themselves to realise that they’re getting middle-aged and past doing things.’

Tuppence gave a snort of rage, tossed her glossy dark head, and sent her ball of khaki wool spinning from her lap.