the funds of Associated Catering
and if the old man had found it out, it
might have been vital to silence old Leonides
and to leave England before the truth came
out. Possibly Roger had rendered himself
liable to criminal prosecution.
It was agreed that inquiries should be
made without delay into the affairs of
Associated Catering.
"It will be an almighty crash, if that
goes," my father remarked. "It's a huge
concern. There are millions involved."
"If it's really in Queer Street, it gives us
what we want," said Taverner. "Father
summons Roger. Roger breaks down and
confesses. Brenda Leonides was out at a
cinema. Roger has only got to leave his
father's room, walk into the bathroom? empty out an insulin phial and replace it
with the strong solution of eserine and there
you are. Or his wife may have done it. She
went over to the other wing after she came
home that day -- says she went over to
fetch a pipe Roger had left there. But she
could have gone over to switch the stuff
before Brenda came home and gave him his
injection. She'd be quite cool and capable
about it."
I nodded. "Yes, I fancy her as the actual
doer of the deed. She's cool enough for
anything! And I don't think that Roger
Leonides would think of poison as a means
-- that trick with the insulin has something
feminine about it."
"Plenty of men poisoners," said my
father drily.
"Oh, I know, sir," said Taverner. "Don't
I know!" he added with feeling.
"All the same I shouldn't have said Roger
was the type."
"Pritchard," the Old Man reminded him, "was a good mixer."
"Let's say they were in it together."
"With the accent on Lady Macbeth,"
said my father, as Taverner departed. "Is
that how she strikes you, Charles?"'
I visualised the slight graceful figure
standing by the window in that austere
room.
"Not quite," I said. "Lady Macbeth was
essentially a greedy woman. I don't think
Clemency Leonides is. I don't think she
wants or cares for possessions."
"But she might care, desperately, about
her husband's safety?"
"That, yes. And she could certainly be
-- well, ruthless."
"Different kinds of ruthlessness. . . ."
That was what Sophia had said.
I looked up to see the Old Man watching
me.
"What's on your mind, Charles?"
But I didn't tell him then.
I was summoned on the following day and
found Taverner and my father together.
Taverner was looking pleased with himself
and slightly excited.
"Associated Catering is on the rocks,"
said my father.
"Due to crash at any minute," said
Taverner.
"I saw there had been a sharp fall in the
shares last night," I said. "But they seem
to have recovered this morning."
"We've had to go about it very cautiously,"
said Taverner. "No direct inquiries.
Nothing to cause a panic -- or to put
the wind up our absconding gentleman. But
we've got certain private sources of information
and the information there is fairly
definite. Associated Catering is on the verge
of a crash. It can't possibly meet its commitments.
The truth seems to be that it's
been grossly mismanaged for years."
"By Roger Leonides?"
"Yes. He's had supreme power, you
know."
"And he's helped himself to money --"
"No," said Taverner. "We don't think
he has. To put it bluntly, he may be a murderer, but we don't think he's a swindler.
Quite frankly he's just been -- a fool. He
doesn't seem to have had any kind of
judgement. He's launched out where he
should have held in -- he's hesitated and
retreated where he ought to have launched
out. He's delegated power to the last sort
of people he ought to have delegated it to.
He's a trustful sort of chap, and he's trusted
the wrong people. At every time, and on
every occasion, he's done the wrong thing."
"There are people like that," said my
father. "And they're not really stupid either.
They're bad judges of men, that's all. And
they're enthusiastic at the wrong time."
"A man like that oughtn't to be in
business at all," said Taverner.
"He probably wouldn't be," said my
father, "except for the accident of being
Aristide Leonides's son."
"That show was absolutely booming when
the old man handed it over to him. It ought
to have been a gold mine! You'd think he
could have just sat back and let the show
run itself."
"No," my father shook his head. "No
show runs itself. There are always decisions
to be made -- a man sacked here -- a man
appointed there -- small questions of policy.
And with Roger Leonides the answer seems
to have been always wrong."
"That's right," said Taverner. "He's a
loyal sort of chap, for one thing. He kept
on the most frightful duds -- just because
he had an affection for them -- or because
they'd been there a long time. And then he
sometimes had wild impractical ideas and
insisted on trying them out in spite of the
enormous outlay involved."
"But nothing criminal?" my father insisted.
"No, nothing criminal."
"Then why murder?" I asked.
"He may have been a fool and not a
knave," said Taverner. "But the result was
the same -- or nearly the same. The only
thing that could save Associated Catering
from the smash was a really colossal sum
of money by next" (he consulted a notebook)
"by next Wednesday at the latest."
"Such a sum as he would inherit, or
thought he would have inherited, under his
father's will?"
"Exactly."
"But he wouldn't be able to have got
that sum in cash."
"No. But he'd have got credit. It's the
same thing."
The Old Man nodded.
"Wouldn't it have been simpler to go to
old Leonides and ask for help?" he suggested
"I think he did," said Taverner. "I think
that's what the kid overheard. The old boy
refused point blank, I should imagine, to
throw good money after bad. He would, you know."
I thought that Taverner was right there.
Aristide Leonides had refused the backing
for Magda's play -- he had said that it
would not be a Box Office success. Events
had proved him correct. He was a generous nian to his family, but he was not a man to
Waste money in unprofitable enterprises.
And Associated Catering ran to thousands,
or probably hundreds of thousands. He had
refused point blank, and the only way for
Roger to avoid financial ruin was for his
father to die.
Yes, there was certainly a motive there
all right.
My father looked at his watch.
"I've asked him to come here," he said.
"He'll be here any minute now."
"Roger?"
"Yes."
"Will you walk into my parlour said the
spider to the fly?" I murmured.
Taverner looked at me in a shocked way.
"We shall give him all the proper cautions,"
he said severely.
The stage was set, the shorthand writer
established. Presently the buzzer sounded, and a few minutes later Roger Leonides
entered the room.
He came in eagerly -- and rather clumsily
-- he stumbled over a chair. I was reminded
as before of a large friendly dog. At the
same time I decided quite definitely that it
was not he who had carried out the actual
process of transferring eserine to an insulin
bottle. He would have broken it, spilled it, or muffed the operation in some way or
rM4^r No. Clemency's, I decided, had been
the actual hand, though Roger had been
privy to the deed.
Words rushed from him:
"You wanted to see me? You've found
out something? Hullo, Charles, I didn't see
you. Nice of you to come along. But please
tell me. Sir Arthur --"
Such a nice fellow -- really such a nice
fellow. But lots of murderers had been nice
fellows -- so their astonished friends had
said afterwards. Feeling rather like Judas, I smiled a greeting.
My father was deliberate, coldly official.
The glib phrases were uttered. Statement
. . . taken down ... no compulsion . . .
solicitor ...
Roger Leonides brushed them all aside
with the same characteristic eager impatience.
I saw the faint sardonic smile on Chief
Inspector Taverner's face, and read from it
the thought in his mind.
"Always sure of themselves, these chaps.
They can't make a mistake. They're far too
clever!"
I sat down unobtrusively in a corner and
listened. ^
"I have asked you to come here, Mr.
Leonides," my father said, "not to give you
fresh information, but to ask for some
information from you -- information that
you have previously withheld."
Roger Leonides looked bewildered.
"Withheld? But I've told you everything
-- absolutely everything!"
"I think not. You had a conversation
with the deceased on the afternoon of his
death?"
"Yes, yes, I had tea with him. I told you
so."
"You told us that, yes, but you did not
tell us about your conversation."
"We -- just -- talked."
"What about?" "Daily
happenings, the house, Sophia--"
"What about Associated Catering? Was that
mentioned?"
I think I had hoped up to then that
Josephine had been inventing the whole
story -- but if so, that hope was quickly
quenched.
Roger's face changed. It changed in a
moment from eagerness to something that
was recognisably close to despair.
"Oh my God," he said. He dropped into
a chair and buried his face in his hands.
Taverner smiled like a contented cat.
"Ynn admit, Mr. Leonides, that you have
not been frank with us?"
"How did you get to know about that? I
thought nobody knew -- I don't see how
anybody could know."
"We have means of finding out these
things, Mr. Leonides." There was a majestic
pause. "I think you will see now that you
had better tell us the truth."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll tell you. What
do you want to know?"
"Is it true that Associated Catering is on
the verge of collapse?"
"Yes. It can't be staved off now. The
crash is bound to come. If only my father
could have died without ever knowing. I
feel so ashamed -- so disgraced --"
"There is a possibility of criminal prosecution?"
Roger sat up sharply.
"No, indeed. It will be bankruptcy --
but an honourable bankruptcy. Creditors
will be paid twenty shillings in the pound
if I throw in my personal assets which I
shall do. No, the disgrace I feel is to have
failed my father. He trusted me. He made
over to me this, his largest concern -- and
his pet concern. He never interfered, he
never asked what I was doing. He just --
trusted me. . . . And I let him down."
My father said drily:
"You say there was no likelihood of
criminal prosecution? Why then, had you
and your wife planned to go abroad without
telling anybody of your intention?"
"You know that, too?"
"Yes, Mr. Leonides."
"But don't you see?" He leaned forward
eagerly. "I couldn't face him with the truth.
It would have looked, you see, as if I was
asking for money? As though I wanted him
to set me on my feet again. He ? he was
very fond of me. He would have wanted to
help. But I couldn't ? I couldn't go on ?
it would have meant making a mess of
things all over again ? I'm no good. I
haven't got the ability. I'm not the man my
father was. I've always known it. I've tried.
But it's no good. I've been so miserable ?
God! you don't know how miserable I've
been! Trying to get out of the muddle,
hoping I'd just get square, hoping the dear
old man would never need hear about it.
And then it came ? no more hope of
avoiding the crash. Clemency ? my wife
? she understood, she agreed with me. We
thought out this plan. Say nothing to
anyone. Go away. And then let the storm
break. I'd leave a letter for my father,
telling him all about it -- telling him how
ashamed I was and begging him to forgive
me. He's been so good to me always -- you
don't know! But it would be too late then
for him to do anything. That's what I
wanted. Not to ask him -- or even to seem
to ask him for help. Start again on my own
somewhere. Live simply and humbly. Grow
things. Coffee -- fruit. Just have the bare
necessities of life -- hard on Clemency, but
she swore she didn't mind. She's wonderful
-- absolutely wonderful."
"I see." My father's voice was dry. "And
what made you change your mind?"
"Change my mind?'''
"Yes. What made you decide to go to
your father and ask for financial help after
all?"
Roger stared at him.
"But I didn't!"
"Come now, Mr. Le^onides."
"You've got it all wrong. I didn't go to
him. He sent for me. He'd heard, somehow, in the City. A rumour? I suppose. But he
/>
always knew things. So^neone had told him.
He tackled me with it^ Then, of course, I
broke down ... I t
I said it wasn't so irnuch the money -- ^ was the feeling X'd let him down
after he'd tmsi^ me."
Roger swall^d convulsively. "The dear ^ ^n," he said. "You can't
imagine how^ he was to me. No reproaches.
Just^^ss. I told him I didn't
want help, t ^ preferred not to have it
-- that I'd r^ g^ y^^y ^ p^ planned
to do. But h^u^'t listen. He insisted
on coming tc^e rescue -- on putting |
Associated C^^g o^ ^s Iggs again."
Taverner s^ sharply:
"You are a^g us ^ believe that your
father intend^ ^ come to your assistance
financially?'9
"Certainly ^ did. He wrote to his brokers
then and thei^ giving them instructions."
I suppose saw the incredulity on the
two men's fa^ ^ flushed. J
"Look her^" ^e said, "I've still got the
letter. I was ^ post k. But of course later
-- with -- wi^ ^e shock and confusion, I
forgot. I've ^obably got it in my pocket
now."
He drew ou^is wallet and started hunting
through it. Fi^iy he found what he wanted.
It was a crea^ envelope with a stamp on
it. It was ack^ssed, as I saw by leaning
Iorwa 310 ^ssrs. Greatorex and Hanbury. Read it for yourselves," he said. "If you
don't believe me."
My father tore open the letter. Taverner
went round behind him. I did not see the
letter then, but I saw it later. It instructed
Messrs. Greatorex and Hanbury to realise
certain investments and asked for a member
of the firm to be sent down on the following
day to take certain instructions re the affairs
of Associated Catering. Some of it was
unintelligible to me but its purport was
clear enough. Aristide Leonides was preparing
to put Associated Catering on its
feet again.
Taverner said:
"We will give you a receipt for this, Mr.
Leonides."
Roger took the receipt. He got up and
said:
"Is that all? You do see how it all was, don't you?"
Taverner said:
"Mr. Leonides gave you this letter and
you then left him? What did you do next?"
"I rushed back to my own part of the
house. My wife had just come in. I told
her what my father proposed to do. How
wonderful he had been! I -- really, I hardly
knew what I was doing."
"And your father was taken ill -- how
long after that?"
"Let me see ? half an hour, perhaps, or
an hour. Brenda came rushing in. She was
frightened. She said he looked queer. I ?
I rushed over with her. But I've told you
this before."
"During your former visit, did you go
into the bathroom adjoining your father's
room at all?"
"I don't think so. No ? no, I am sure I
didn't. Why, you can't possibly think that
I?"
My father quelled the sudden indignation.
He got up and shook hands.
"Thank you, Mr. Leonides," he said.
"You have been very helpful. But you
should have told us all this before."
The door closed behind Roger. I got up
and came to look at the letter lying on my
father's table.
"It could be forgery," said Taverner
hopefully.
"It could be," said my father, "but I
don't think it is. I think we'll have to accept
it as it stands. Old Leonides was prepared
to get his son out of this mess. It could
have been done more efficiently by him
alive than it could by Roger after his death
?llv as it now transpires that no
c?c"r?^r'ia
will is to be found and that in consequence
Roger's actual amount of inheritance is
open to question. That means delays ?
and difficulties. As things now stand, the
crash is bound to come. No, Taverner,
Roger Leonides and his wife had no motive
for getting the old man out of the way. On
the contrary ?"
He stopped and repeated thoughtfully as
though a sudden thought had occurred to
him, "On the contrary ..."
"What's on your mind, sir?" Taverner
asked.
The Old Man said slowly:
"If Aristide Leonides had lived only
another twenty-four hours, Roger would
have been all right. But he didn't live
twenty-four hours. He died suddenly and
dramatically within little more than an
hour."
"Hm," said Taverner. "Do you think
somebody in the house wanted Roger to go
broke? Someone who had an opposing
financial interest? Doesn't seem likely."
"What's the position as regards the will?"
niy father asked. "Who actually gets old
Leonides' s money ?"
"You know what lawyers are. Can't get
a straight answer out of them. There's a
T
former will. Made when he married the
second Mrs. Leonides. That leaves the same
sum to her, rather less to Miss de Haviland,
and the remainder between Philip and
Roger. I should have thought that if this
will isn't signed, then the old one would
operate, but it seems it isn't so simple as
that. First the making of the new will
revoked the former one and there are
witnesses to the signing of it, and the
'testator's intention.' It seems to be a toss
up if it turns out that he died intestate.
Then the widow apparently gets the lot ?
or a life interest at any rate."
"So if the will's disappeared Brenda