Her voice sounded completely uninterested.
Roger Leonides came back with a rush, and the same bumble-bee effect.
I got held up, he said. Telephone. Well, Inspector? Well? Have you got news? What caused my fathers death?
Death was due to eserine poisoning.
It was? My God! Then it was that woman! She couldnt wait! He took her more or less out of the gutter and this is his reward. She murdered him in cold blood! God, it makes my blood boil to think of it.
Have you any particular reason for thinking that? Taverner asked.
Roger was pacing up and down[70], tugging at his hair with both hands.
Reason? Why, who else could it be? Ive never trusted hernever liked her! Weve none of us liked her. Philip and I were both appalled when Dad came home one day and told us what he had done! At his age! It was madness madness. My father was an amazing man, Inspector. In intellect he was as young and fresh as a man of forty. Everything I have in the world I owe to him. He did everything for menever failed me. It was I who failed himwhen I think of it
He dropped heavily on to a chair. His wife came quietly to his side.
Now, Roger, thats enough. Dont work yourself up.
I know, dearestI know, he took her hand. But how can I keep calmhow can I help feeling
But we must all keep calm, Roger. Chief Inspector Taverner wants our help.
That is right, Mrs Leonides.
Roger cried:
Do you know what Id like to do? Id like to strangle that woman with my own hands. Grudging that dear old man a few extra years of life. If I had her here He sprang up[71]. He was shaking with rage. He held out convulsive hands. Yes, Id wring her neck, wring her neck
Roger! said Clemency sharply.
Roger! said Clemency sharply.
He looked at her, abashed.
Sorry, dearest. He turned to us. I do apologize. My feelings get the better of me. Iexcuse me
He went out of the room again. Clemency Leonides said with a very faint smile:
Really, you know, he wouldnt hurt a fly.
Taverner accepted her remark politely.
Then he started on his so-called routine questions.
Clemency Leonides replied concisely and accurately.
Roger Leonides had been in London on the day of his fathers death at Box House, the headquarters of the Associated Catering. He had returned early in the afternoon and had spent some time with his father as was his custom. She herself had been, as usual, at the Lambert Institute in Gower Street where she worked. She had returned to the house just before six oclock.
Did you see your father-in-law?
No. The last time I saw him was on the day before. We had coffee with him after dinner.
But you did not see him on the day of his death?
No. I actually went over to his part of the house because Roger thought he had left his pipe therea very precious pipe, but as it happened he had left it on the hall table there, so I did not need to disturb the old man. He often dozed off[72] about six.
When did you hear of his illness?
Brenda came rushing over. That was just a mi nute or two after half-past six.
These questions, as I knew, were unimportant, but I was aware how keen was Inspector Taverners scrutiny of the woman who answered them. He asked her a few questions about the nature of her work in London. She said that it had to do with the radiation effects of atomic disintegration.
You work on the atom bomb, in fact?
The work has nothing destructive about it. The Institute is carrying out experiments on the therapeutic effects.
When Taverner got up, he expressed a wish to look round their part of the house. She seemed a little surprised, but showed him its extent readily enough. The bedroom with its twin beds and white coverlets and its simplified toilet appliances reminded me again of a hospital or some monastic cell. The bathroom, too, was severely plain with no special luxury fitting and no array of cosmetics. The kitchen was bare, spotlessly clean, and well equipped with labour-saving devices of a practical kind. Then we came to a door which Clemency opened, saying: This is my husbands special room.
Come in, said Roger. Come in.
I drew a faint breath of relief. Something in the spotless austerity elsewhere had been getting me down. This was an intensely personal room. There was a large roll-top desk untidily covered with papers, old pipes, and tobacco ash. There were big shabby easy-chairs. Persian rugs covered the floor. On the walls were groups, their photography somewhat faded. School groups, cricket groups, military groups. Water-colour sketches of deserts and minarets, and of sailing-boats and sea effects and sunsets. It was, somehow, a pleasant room, the room of a lovable, friendly, companionable man.
Roger, clumsily, was pouring out[73] drinks from a tantalus[74], sweeping books and papers off one of the chairs.
Place is in a mess. I was turning out. Clearing up old papers. Say when. The inspector declined a drink. I accepted. You must forgive me just now, went on Roger. He brought my drink over to me, turning his head to speak to Taverner as he did so. My feelings ran away with me.
He looked round almost guiltily, but Clemency Leonides had not accompanied us into the room.
Shes so wonderful, he said. My wife, I mean. All through this, shes been splendidsplendid! I cant tell you how I admire that woman. And shes had such a hard timea terrible time. Id like to tell you about it. Before we were married, I mean. Her first husband was a fine chapfine mind, I meanbut terribly delicatetubercular as a matter of fact. He was doing very valuable research work on crystallography, I believe. Poorly paid and very exacting, but he wouldnt give up. She slaved for him, practically kept him, knowing all the time that he was dying. And never a complaintnever a murmur of weariness. She always said she was happy. Then he died, and she was terribly cut up. At last she agreed to marry me. I was so glad to be able to give her some rest, some happiness. I wished she would stop working, but of course she felt it her duty in wartime, and she still seems to feel she should go on. But shes been a wonderful wifethe most wonderful wife a man ever had. Gosh, Ive been lucky! Id do anything for her.
Taverner made a suitable rejoinder. Then he embarked once more on the familiar routine questions. When had he first heard of his fathers illness?
Brenda had rushed over to call me. My father was illshe said he had had a seizure of some sort.
Id been sitting with the dear old boy only about half an hour earlier. Hed been perfectly all right then. I rushed over. He was blue in the face, gasping. I dashed down to Philip. He rang up the doctor. Iwe couldnt do anything. Of course I never dreamed for a moment then that there had been any funny business. Funny? Did I say funny? God, what a word to use.
With a little difficulty, Taverner and I disentangled ourselves from the emotional atmosphere of Roger Leonides room and found ourselves outside the door, once more at the top of the stairs.
Whew! said Taverner. What a contrast from the other brother. He added, rather inconsequently: Curious things, rooms. Tell you quite a lot about the people who live in them.
I agreed and he went on:
Curious the people who marry each other, too, isnt it?
I was not quite sure if he was referring to Clemency and Roger, or to Philip and Magda. His words applied equally well to either. Yet it seemed to me that both the marriages might be classed as happy ones. Rogers and Clemencys certainly was.
I shouldnt say he was a poisoner, would you? asked Taverner. Not off-hand, I wouldnt. Of course you never know. Now shes more the type. Remorseless sort of woman. Might be a bit mad.
Again I agreed. But I dont suppose, I said, that shed murder anyone just because she didnt approve of their aims and mode of life. Perhaps, if she really hated the old manbut are any murders committed just out of pure hate?
Precious few, said Taverner. Ive never come across one myself. No, I think were a good deal safer to stick to Mrs Brenda. But God knows if well ever get any evidence.
Chapter 8
A parlourmaid opened the door of the opposite wing to us. She looked scared but slightly contemptuous when she saw Taverner.
You want to see the mistress?
Yes, please.
She showed us into a big drawing-room and went out.
Its proportions were the same as the drawing-room on the ground floor below. There were coloured cretonnes, very gay in colour, and striped silk curtains. Over the mantelpiece was a portrait that held my gaze rivetednot only because of the master hand that had painted it, but also because of the arresting face of the subject.
It was the portrait of a little old man with dark, piercing eyes. He wore a black velvet skull cap and his head was sunk down in his shoulders, but the vitality and power of the man radiated forth from the canvas. The twinkling eyes seemed to hold mine.
Thats him, said Chief Inspector Taverner ungrammatically. Painted by Augustus John[75]. Got a personality, hasnt he?
Thats him, said Chief Inspector Taverner ungrammatically. Painted by Augustus John[75]. Got a personality, hasnt he?
Yes, I said, and felt the monosyllable was inade quate.
I understood now just what Edith de Haviland had meant when she said the house seemed so empty without him. This was the Original Crooked Little Man who had built the Crooked Little Houseand without him the Crooked Little House had lost its meaning.
Thats his first wife over there, painted by Sargent[76], said Taverner.
I examined the picture on the wall between the windows. It had a certain cruelty like many of Sargents portraits. The length of the face was exaggerated, I thoughtso was the faint suggestion of horsinessthe indisputable correctness. It was a portrait of a typical English Ladyin Country (not Smart) Society. Handsome, but rather lifeless. A most unlikely wife for the grinning, powerful little despot over the mantelpiece.
The door opened and Sergeant Lamb stepped in.
Ive done what I could with the servants, sir, he said. Didnt get anything.
Taverner sighed.
Sergeant Lamb took out his notebook and retreated to the far end of the room, where he seated himself unobtrusively.