So no one gains particularly by his death?
She threw me a strange glance.
Yes, they do. They all get more money. But they could probably have had it, if they asked for it, anyway.
Have you any idea who poisoned him, Miss de Haviland?
She replied characteristically:
No, indeed I havent. Its upset me very much. Not nice to think one has a Borgia sort of person loose about the house. I suppose the police will fasten on poor Brenda.
You dont think theyll be right in doing so?
I simply cant tell. Shes always seemed to me a singularly stupid and commonplace young womanrather conventional. Not my idea of a poisoner. Still, after all, if a young woman of twenty-four marries a man close on eighty, its fairly obvious that shes marrying him for his money. In the normal course of events she could have expected to become a rich widow fairly soon. But Aristide was a singularly tough old man. His diabetes wasnt getting any worse. He really looked like living to be a hundred. I suppose she got tired of waiting
In that case, I said, and stopped.
In that case, said Miss de Haviland briskly, it will be more or less all right. Annoying publicity, of course. But after all, she isnt one of the family.
Youve no other ideas? I asked.
What other ideas should I have?
I wondered. I had a suspicion that there might be more going on under the battered felt hat than I knew.
Behind the perky, almost disconnected utterance, there was, I thought, a very shrewd brain at work. Just for a moment I even wondered whether Miss de Haviland had poisoned Aristide Leonides herself
It did not seem an impossible idea. At the back of my mind was the way she had ground the bindweed into the soil with her heel with a kind of vindictive thoroughness.
I remembered the word Sophia had used. Ruthlessness.
I stole a sideways glance at Edith de Haviland.
Given good and sufficient reason But what exactly would seem to Edith de Haviland good and sufficient reason?
To answer that, I should have to know her better.
Chapter 6
The front door was open. We passed through it into a rather surprisingly spacious hall. It was furnished with restraintwell-polished dark oak and gleaming brass. At the back, where the staircase would normally appear, was a white panelled wall with a door in it.
My brother-in-laws part of the house, said Miss de Haviland. The ground floor is Philip and Magdas.
We went through a doorway on the left into a large drawing-room. It had pale-blue panelled walls, furniture covered in heavy brocade, and on every available table and on the walls were hung photographs and pictures of actors, dancers, and stage scenes and designs. A Degas of ballet dancers hung over the mantelpiece. There were masses of flowers, enormous brown chrysanthemums and great vases of carnations.
I suppose, said Miss de Haviland, that you want to see Philip?
Did I want to see Philip? I had no idea. All I had wanted to do was to see Sophia. That I had done. She had given emphatic encouragement to the Old Mans plan had now receded from the scene and was presumably somewhere telephoning about fish, having given me no indication of how to proceed. Was I to approach Philip Leonides as a young man anxious to marry his daughter, or as a casual friend who had dropped in[53] (surely not at such a moment!) or as an associate of the police?
Miss de Haviland gave me no time to consider her question. It was, indeed, not a question at all, but more an assertion. Miss de Haviland, I judged, was more inclined to assert than to question.
Well go to the library, she said.
She led me out of the drawing-room, along a corridor and in through another door.
It was a big room, full of books. The books did not confine themselves to the bookcases that reached up to the ceiling. They were on chairs and tables and even on the floor. And yet there was no sense of disarray about them.
The room was cold. There was some smell absent in it that I was conscious of having expected. It smelt of the mustiness of old books and just a little beeswax. In a second or two I realized what I missed. It was the scent of tobacco. Philip Leonides was not a smoker.
He got up from behind his table as we entereda tall man, aged somewhere around fifty, an extraordinarily handsome man. Everyone had laid so much emphasis on the ugliness of Aristide Leonides, that for some reason I expected his son to be ugly too. Certainly I was not prepared for this perfection of featurethe straight nose, the flawless line of jaw, the fair hair touched with grey that swept back from a well-shaped forehead.
This is Charles Hayward, Philip, said Edith de Haviland.
Ah, how do you do?
I could not tell if he had ever heard of me. The hand he gave me was cold. His face was quite incurious. It made me rather nervous. He stood there, patient and uninterested.
Where are those awful policemen? demanded Miss de Haviland. Have they been in here?
I believe Chief Inspector(he glanced down at a card on the desk)erTaverner is coming to talk to me presently.
Where is he now?
Ive no idea, Aunt Edith. Upstairs, I suppose.
With Brenda?
I really dont know.
Looking at Philip Leonides, it seemed quite impossible that a murder could have been committed anywhere in his vicinity.
Is Magda up yet?
I dont know. Shes not usually up before eleven.
That sounds like her, said Edith de Haviland.
What sounded like Mrs Philip Leonides was a high voice talking very rapidly and approaching fast. The door behind me burst open and a woman came in. I dont know how she managed to give the impression of its being three women rather than one who entered.
She was smoking a cigarette in a long holder and was wearing a peach satin négligé which she was holding up with one hand. A cascade of Titian[54] hair rippled down her back. Her face had that almost shocking air of nudity that a womans has nowadays when it is not made up at all. Her eyes were blue and enormous and she was talking very rapidly in a husky, rather attractive voice with a very clear enunciation.
Darling, I cant stand itI simply cant stand itjust think of the noticesit isnt in the papers yet, but of course it will beand I simply cant make up my mind what I ought to wear at the inquestvery, very subduednot black though, perhaps dark purpleand I simply havent got a coupon leftIve lost the address of that dreadful man who sells them to meyou know, the garage somewhere near Shaftesbury Avenueand if I went up there in the car the police would follow me, and they might ask the most awkward questions, mightnt they? I mean, what could one say? How calm you are, Philip! How can you be so calm? Dont you realize we can leave this awful house now? Freedomfreedom! Oh, how unkindthe poor old Sweetieof course wed never have left him while he was alive. He really did dote on us, didnt hein spite of all the trouble that woman upstairs tried to make between us. Im quite sure that if we had gone away and left him to her, hed have cut us right out of everything. Horrible creature! After all, poor old Sweetie Pie was just on ninety all the family feeling in the world couldnt have stood up against a dreadful woman who was on the spot. You know, Philip, I really believe that this would be a wonderful opportunity to put on the Edith Thompson play. This murder would give us a lot of advance publicity. Bildenstein said he could get the Thespianthat dreary play in verse about miners is coming off any minuteits a wonderful partwonderful. I know they say I must always play comedy because of my nosebut you know theres quite a lot of comedy to be got out of Edith ThompsonI dont think the author realized thatcomedy always heightens the suspense. I know just how Id play itcommonplace, silly, make-believe up to the last minute and then
She cast out[55] an armthe cigarette fell out of the holder on to the polished mahogany of Philips desk and began to burn it. Impassively he reached for it and dropped it into the wastepaper basket.
And then, whispered Magda Leonides, her eyes suddenly widening, her face stiffening, just terror
The stark fear stayed on her face for about twenty seconds, then her face relaxed, crumpled, a bewildered child was about to burst into tears.
Suddenly all emotion was wiped away as though by a sponge and, turning to me, she asked in a businesslike tone:
Dont you think that would be the way to play Edith Thompson?
I said I thought that would be exactly the way to play Edith Thompson. At the moment I could only remember very vaguely who Edith Thompson was, but I was anxious to start off well with Sophias mother.
Rather like Brenda, really, wasnt she? said Magda. Dyou know, I never thought of that. Its very interesting. Shall I point that out to the inspector?
The man behind the desk frowned very slightly.
Theres really no need, Magda, he said, for you to see him at all. I can tell him anything he wants to know.
Not see him? Her voice went up. But of course I must see him! Darling, darling, youre so terribly unimaginative! You dont realize the importance of details. Hell want to know exactly how and when everything happened, all the little things one noticed and wondered about at the time
Mother, said Sophia, coming through the open door, youre not to tell the inspector a lot of lies.
Sophiadarling
I know, precious, that youve got it all set and that youre ready to give a most beautiful performance. But youve got it wrong. Quite wrong.
Nonsense. You dont know
I do know. Youve got to play it quite differently, darling. Subduedsaying very littleholding it all backon your guardprotecting the family.
Magda Leonides face showed the naive perplexi ty of a child.
Darling, she said, do you really think
Yes, I do. Throw it away. Thats the idea.
Sophia added, as a little pleased smile began to show on her mothers face:
Ive made you some chocolate. Its in the drawing-room.
OhgoodIm starving
She paused in the doorway.
You dont know, she said, and the words appeared to be addressed either to me or to the bookshelf behind my head, how lovely it is to have a daughter!
On this exit line she went out.
God knows, said Miss de Haviland, what she will say to the police!