Read Crooked House Page 4

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 couldn't 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 Thespian

  -- that dreary play in verse about miners

  is coming off any minute -- It's a wonderful

  part -- wonderful. I know they say I must

  always play comedy because of my nose --

  but you know there's quite a lot of comedy

  to be got out of Edith Thompson -- I don't

  think the author realised that -- comedy

  heightens the suspense. I know just how

  I'd play it -- commonplace, silly, makebelieve

  up to the last minute and then --"

  She cast out an arm -- the cigarette fell

  out of the holder onto the polished mahogany

  of Philip's desk and began to burn it.

  Impassively he reached for it and dropped

  it into the waste paper 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:

  "Don't 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 Sophia's

  mother.

  "Rather like Brenda, really, wasn't she?"

  said Magda. "D'you know, I never thought

  of that. It's very interesting. Shall I point

  that out to the Inspector?"

  The man behind the desk frowned very

  slightly.

  "There's 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,

  you're so terribly unimaginative! You don't

  realise the importance of details. He'll 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, "you're not to tell the

  Inspector a lot of lies."

  "Sophia ? darling ..."

  "I know, precious, that you've got it all

  set and that you're ready to give a most

  beautiful performance. But you've got it

  wrong. Quite wrong."

  "Nonsense. You don't know ?"

  "I do know. You've got to play it quite

  differently, darling. Subdued ? saying very

  little ? holding it all back ? on your

  guard ? protecting the family."

  S; Magda Leonides' face showed the naive

  perplexity of a child.

  "Darling," she said, "do you really

  think ?"

  "Yes, I do. Throw it away. That's the

  idea."

  Sophia added, as a little pleased smile

  began to show on her mother's face:

  "I've made you some chocolate. It's in

  the drawing room."

  "Oh ? good ? I'm starving ?"

  She paused in the doorway.

  "You don't 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!"

  "She'll be all right," said Sophia.

  "She might say anything."

  "Don't worry," said Sophia. "She'll play

  it the way the producer says. I'm the

  producer!"

  She went out after her mother, then

  wheeled back to say:

  "Here's Chief Inspector Taverner to see

  you, father. You don't mind if Charles

  stays, do you?"

  I thought that a very faint air of

  bewilderment showed on Philip Leonides'

  face. It well might! .But his incurious habit

  served me in good stead. He murmured:

  "Oh certainly ? certainly," in a rather

  vague voice.

  Chief Inspector Taverner came in, solid,

  dependable, and with an air of businesslike

  promptitude that was somehow soothing.

  "Just a little unpleasantness," his manner

  seemed to say, "and then we shall be out

  of the house for good ? and nobody will

  be more pleased than I shall. We don't

  want to hang about, I can assure you ..."

  I don't know how he managed, without

  any words at all, but merely by drawing up

  a chair to the desk, to convey what he did,

  but it worked. I sat down unobtrusively a

  little way off.

  "Yes, Chief Inspector?" said Philip. <

  Miss de Haviland said abruptly:

  "You don't want me. Chief Inspector?" "Not just at the moment. Miss de

  Haviland. Later, if I might have a few

  words with you --"

  "Of course. I shall be upstairs." She went out, shutting the door behind

  herN

  "Well, Chief Inspector?" Philip repeated.

  "I know you're a very busy gentleman

  and I don't want to disturb you for long.

  But I may mention to you in confidence

  that our suspicions are confirmed. Your

  father did not die a natural death. His death

  was the result of an overdose of physostigmine

  -- more usually known as eserine."

  Philip bowed his head. He showed no

  particular emotion.

  "I don't know whether that suggests

  anything to you?" Taverner went on.

  "What should it suggest? My own view

  is that my father must have taken the poison

  by accident."

  "You really think so, Mr. Leonides?"

  "Yes, it seems to me perfectly possible.

  He was close on ninety, remember, and

  with very imperfect eyesight."

  "So he emptied the contents of his

  eyedrop bottle into an insulin bottle. Does

  that really seem to you a credible suggestion, Mr. Leonides?"

  Philip did not reply. His face became

  even more impassive.

  Taverner went on:

  "We have found the eyedrop bottle, empty -- in the dustbin, with no fingerprints

  on it. That in itself is curious. In the normal

  way there should have been fingerprints.

  Certainly your father's, possibly his wife's

  or the valet's . . ."

  Philip Leonides looked up.

  "What about the valet?" he said. "What

  about Johnson?" I

  "You are suggesting Johnson as the

  possible criminal? He certainly had opportunity.

  But when
we come to motive it is

  different. It was your father's custom to

  pay him a bonus every year -- each year

  the bonus was increased. Your father made

  it clear to him that this was in lieu of any

  sum that he might otherwise have left him

  in his will. The bonus now, after seven

  years' service, has reached a very consider-

  able sum every year and is still rising. It

  was obviously to Johnson's interest that |

  your father should live as long as possible.

  Moreover they were on excellent terms, and

  Johnson's record of past service is unimpeachable

  -- he is a thoroughly skilled and

  faithful valet attendant." He paused. "We

  do not suspect Johnson."

  Philip replied tonelessly: "I see."

  "Now, Mr. Leonides, perhaps you will

  give me a detailed account of your own

  movements on the day of your father's

  death?"

  p "Certainly, Chief Inspector. I was here, in this room, all that day -- with the

  exception of meals, of course."

  "Did you see your father at all?" - ^ "I said good morning to him after

  I breakfast as was my custom."

  "Were you alone with him then?"

  "My -- er -r- stepmother was in the

  room."

  "Did he seem quite as usual?"

  With a slight hint of irony, Philip replied:

  "He showed no foreknowledge that he

  was to be murdered that day."

  "Is your father's portion of the house

  entirely separate from this?"

  "Yes, the only access to it is through the

  door in the hall."

  "Is that door kept locked?"

  "No."

  "Never?"

  "I have never known it to be so."

  "Anyone could go freely between that

  part of the house and this?"

  "Certainly. It was only separate from the

  point of view of domestic convenience."

  "How did you first hear of your father's

  death?"

  "My brother Roger, who occupies the

  west wing of the floor above came rushing

  down to tell me that my father had had a

  sudden seizure. He had difficulty in breathing

  and seemed very ill."

  "What did you do?"

  "I telephoned through to the doctor, which nobody seemed to have thought of

  doing. The doctor was out -- but I left a

  message for him to come as soon as possible.

  I then went upstairs."

  "And then?"

  "My father was clearly very ill. He died

  before the doctor came." 1 There was no emotion in Philip's voice.

  It was a simple statement of fact.

  "Where was the rest of your family?"

  "My wife was in London. She returned

  shortly afterwards. Sophia was also absent, I believe. The two younger ones, Eustace

  and Josephine, were at home."

  "I hope you won't misunderstand me Mr. Leonides, if I ask you exactly hoi your father's death will affect your financii

  position."

  "I quite appreciate that you want to knoi all the facts. My father made us financial]

  independent a great many years ago. M

  brother he made Chairman and principi

  shareholder of Associated Catering -- hi

  largest Company, and put the managernei

  of it entirely in his hands. He made owe

  to me what he considered an equivaleii

  sum -- actually I think it was a hundrel

  and fifty thousand pounds in various bond

  and securities -- so that I could use th

  capital as I chose. He also settled ver

  generous amounts on my two sisters wh

  have since died."

  "But he left himself still a very ric

  man?"

  "No, actually he only retained for himself

  a comparatively modest income. He said i

  would give him an interest in life. Sine

  that time," for the first time a faint smil

  creased Philip's lips, "he has become, as;

  result of various undertakings, an eve:

  richer man than he was before."

  "Your brother and yourself came here t

  "No."

  "Never?" '

  "I have never known it to be so."

  "Anyone could go freely between that

  part of the house and this?"

  "Certainly. It was only separate from the

  point of view of domestic convenience."

  "How did you first hear of your father's

  death?"

  "My brother Roger, who occupies the

  west wing of the floor above came rushing

  down to tell me that my father had had a

  sudden seizure. He had difficulty in breathing

  and seemed very ill."

  "What did you do?"

  "I telephoned through to the doctor 5

  which nobody seemed to have thought of

  doing. The doctor was out -- but I left a

  message for him to come as soon as possible.

  I then went upstairs."

  "And then?"

  "My father was clearly very ill. He died

  before the doctor came."

  There was no emotion in Philip's voice.

  It was a simple statement of fact.

  "Where was the rest of your family?"

  "My wife was in London. She returned

  shortly afterwards. Sophia was also absent, I believe. The two younger ones, Eustace

  and Josephine, were at home."

  "I hope you won't misunderstand me,

  Mr. Leonides, if I ask you exactly how

  your father's death will affect your financial

  position."

  "I quite appreciate that you want to know

  all the facts. My father made us financially

  independent a great many years ago. My

  brother he made Chairman and principal

  shareholder of Associated Catering ? his

  largest Company, and put the management

  of it entirely in his hands. He made over

  to me what he considered an equivalent

  sum ? actually I think it was a hundred

  and fifty thousand pounds in various bonds

  and securities ? so that I could use the

  capital as I chose. He also settled very

  generous amounts on my two sisters who

  have since died."

  "But he left himself still a very rich

  man?"

  "No, actually he only retained for himself

  a comparatively modest income. He said it

  would give him an interest in life. Since

  that time," for the first time a faint smile

  creased Philip's lips, "he has become, as a

  result of various undertakings, an even

  richer man than he was before."

  "Your brother and yourself came here to

  live. That was not the result of any financial

  ? difficulties?"

  "Certainly not. It was a mere matter of

  convenience. My father always told us that

  we were welcome to make a home with

  him. For various domestic reasons this was

  a convenient thing for me to do.

  "I was also," added Philip deliberately,

  "extremely fond of my father. I came here

  with my family in 1937. I pay no rent, but

  I pay my proportion of the rates."

  "And your brother?"

  "My brother came here as a result of the

  Blitz when his house in London wa
s bombed

  in 1943."

  "Now, Mr. Leonides, have you any idea

  what your father's testamentary dispositions

  are?"

  "A very clear idea. He re-made his will

  shortly after peace was declared in 1945.

  My father was not a secretive man. He had

  a great sense of family. He held a family

  conclave at which his solicitor was also

  present and who, at his request, made clear

  to us the terms of the will. These terms I

  expect you already know. Mr. Gaitskill will

  doubtless have informed you. Roughly, a

  sum of a hundred thousand pounds free of

  duty was left to my stepmother in addition

  to her already very generous marriage

  settlement. The residue of his property was

  divided into three portions, one to myself,

  one to my brother, and a third in trust for

  the three grandchildren. The estate is a

  large one, but the death duties, of course,

  will be very heavy."

  "Any bequests to servants or to charity?"

  ^ "No bequests of any kind. The wages

  paid to servants were increased annually if

  they remained in his service."

  "You are not ? you will excuse my

  asking ? in actual need of money, Mr.

  Leonides?"

  "Income tax, as you know, is somewhat

  heavy. Chief Inspector ? but my income

  amply suffices for my needs ? and for my

  wife's. Moreover my father frequently made

  us all very generous gifts, and had any

  emergency arisen, he would have come to

  the rescue immediately."

  Philip added coldly and clearly:

  "I can assure you that I had no financial

  reason for desiring my father's death. Chief

  Inspector."

  "I am very sorry, Mr. Leonides, if you

  think I suggested anything of the kind. But

  we have to get at all the facts. Now I'm

  afraid I must ask you some rather delicate

  questions. They refer to the relations between

  your father and his wife. Were they

  on happy terms together?"

  "As far as I know, perfectly."

  "No quarrels?"

  "I do not think so."

  "There was a -- great disparity in age?"

  "There was."

  "Did you -- excuse me -- approve of

  your father's second marriage?"

  "My approval was not asked."

  "That is not an answer, Mr. Leonides."

  "Since you press the point, I will say

  that I considered the marriage -- unwise."

  "Did you remonstrate with your father

  about it?"

  "When I heard of it, it was an accomplished

  fact."

  "Rather a shock to you -- eh?"

  Philip did not reply.

  "Was there any bad feeling about the

  matter?"

  "My father was at perfect liberty to do

  as he pleased."

  "Your relations with Mrs. Leonides have

  been amicable?" r

  "Perfectly."

  "You were on friendly terms with her?"

  "We very seldom meet."

  Chief Inspector Taverner shifted his

  ground.

  "Can you tell me something about Mr.

  Laurence Brown?"

  "I'm afraid I can't. He was engaged by

  my father."

  "But he was engaged to teach your

  children, Mr. Leonides."

  "True. My son was a sufferer from

  infantile paralysis ? fortunately a light case

  ? and it was considered not advisable to

  send him to a public school. My father

  suggested that he and my young daughter

  Josephine should have a private tutor ?

  the choice at the time was rather limited ?

  since the tutor in question must be ineligible

  for military service. This young man's

  credentials were satisfactory, my father and

  my aunt (who has always looked after the

  children's welfare) were satisfied, and I

  acquiesced. I may add that I have no fault

  to find with his teaching which has been

  conscientious and adequate."

  "His living quarters are in your father's

  part of the house, not here?"

  "There was more room up there."

  "Have you ever noticed ? I am sorry to

  ask this ? any signs of intimacy between

  Laurence Brown and your stepmother?"

  "I have had no opportunity of observing

  anything of the kind."

  "Have you heard any gossip or tittle tattle

  on the subject?"

  "I don't listen to gossip or tittle tattle, Chief Inspector."

  "Very creditable," said Inspector Taverner.

  "So you've seen no evil, heard no evil, and aren't speaking any evil?"

  "If you like to put it that way. Chief

  Inspector."

  Inspector Taverner got up.

  "Well," he said, "thank you very much, Mr. Leonides." ?

  I followed him unobtrusively out of the

  room.

  "Whew," said Taverner, "he's a cold

  fish!"

  ?""

  Seven

  "And now," said Taverner, "we'll go and

  have a word with Mrs. Philip. Magda West, her stage name is."

  "Is she any good?" I asked. "I know her

  name, and I believe I've seen her in various

  shows, but I can't remember when and

  where." to, . . ^.

  "She's one of those Near Successes," said

  Taverner. "She's starred once or twice in

  the West End, she's made quite a name for

  herself in Repertory -- she plays a lot for

  the little highbrow theatres and the Sunday

  clubs. The truth is, I think, she's been

  handicapped by not having to earn her

  living at it. She's been able to pick and

  choose, and to go where she likes and occasionally

  to put up the money to finance a

  show where she's fancied a certain part --

  usually the last part in the world to suit

  her. Result is, she's receded a bit into the