over his signature. It now read (with difficulty)
Christopher Pyne.
If Mrs. R. Chester was unhappy in Pollensa
Bay, it was not going to be made easy for her to
consult Mr. Parker Pyne.
Already it had been a source of abiding wonder
to that gentleman that so many people he had
come across abroad should know his name and
have noted his advertisements. In England many
thousands of people read the Times every day and
could have answered quite truthfully that they had
never heard such a name in their lives. Abroad, he
reflected, they read their newspapers more thor-oughly.
No item, not even the advertisement col-umns,
escaped them.
Already his holidays had been interrupted on
several occasions. He had dealt with a whole series
of problems from murder to attempted blackmail.
He was determined in Majorca to have peace. He
felt instinctively that a distressed mother might
trouble that peace considerably.
Mr. Parker Pyne settled down at the Pino d'Oro
very happily. There was a larger hotel not far off,
the Mariposa, where a good many English people
84
Agatha Christie
stayed. Fire was also-quite an artist colony living
all round. You could walk along by the sea to the
fishing village where there was a cocktail bar
where peolle met--there were a few shops. It was