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