Аврам Дэвидсон - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 67, No. 3. Whole No. 388, March 1976

Miss Crabtree’s arrangements in regard to money had been somewhat peculiar. She never made use of a check book. Instead, she was in the habit of writing to her lawyer and asking him to have a certain sum in five-pound notes waiting for her. It was nearly always the same sum — £300 had been spent — or almost spent. But this was exactly the point that had not been easy to ascertain.

By checking the household expenditure, it was soon evident that Miss Crabtree’s expenditure per quarter fell a good deal short of the £300. On the other hand, she was in the habit of sending five-pound notes to needy friends or relatives. Whether there had been much or little money in the house at the time of her death was a debatable point. None had been found.

It was this particular point which Sir Edward was revolving in his mind as he approached Palatine Walk.

The door of the house — which was a non-basement one — was opened to him by a small elderly woman with an alert gaze. He was shown into a big double room on the left of the small hallway and there Magdalen came to him. More clearly than before, he saw the traces of nervous strain on her face.

“You told me to ask questions, and I have come to do so,” said Sir Edward, smiling as he shook hands. “First of all, I want to know who last saw your aunt and exactly what time that was.”

“It was after tea — five o’clock. Martha was the last person with her. She had been paying the books that afternoon, and brought Aunt Lily the change and the accounts.”

“You trust Martha?”

“Oh, absolutely. She was with Aunt Lily for — oh, thirty years, I suppose. She’s honest as the day.”

Sir Edward nodded.

“Another question. Why did your cousin, Mrs. Crabtree, take a headache powder?”

“Well, because she had a headache.”

“Naturally, but was there any particular reason why she should have a headache?”

“Well, yes, in a way. There was rather a scene at lunch. Emily is very excitable and highly strung. She and Aunt Lily used to have rows sometimes.”

“And they had one at lunch?”

“Yes. Aunt Lily was rather trying about little things. It all started out of nothing, and then they were at it hammer and tongs, with Emily saying all sorts of things she couldn’t possibly have meant — that she’d leave the house and never come back, that she was grudged every mouthful she ate — oh, all sorts of silly things. And Aunt Lily said the sooner she and her husband packed their bags and went the better. But it all meant nothing, really.”

“Because Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree couldn’t afford to pack up and go?”

“Oh, not only that. William was fond of Aunt Lily. He really was.”

“It wasn’t a day of quarrels, by any chance?”

Magdalen’s color heightened.

“You mean me? The fuss about my wanting to be a model?”

“Your aunt wouldn’t agree?”

“No.”

“Why did you want to be a model, Miss Magdalen? Does the life strike you as a very attractive one?”

“No, but anything would be better than going on living here.”

“Yes, but now you will have a comfortable income, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, it’s quite different now.”

She made the admission with the utmost simplicity.

He smiled but pursued the subject no further. Instead he said, “And your brother? Did he have a quarrel too?”

“Matthew? Oh, no.”

“Then no one can say he had a motive for wishing his aunt out of the way?”

He was quick to seize on the momentary dismay that showed in her face.

“I forgot,” he said casually. “He owed a good deal of money, didn’t he?”

“Yes; poor old Matthew.”

“Still, that will be all right now.”

“Yes—” She sighed. “It is a relief.”

And still she saw nothing! He changed the subject hastily.

“Your cousins and your brother are at home?”

“Yes, I told them you were coming. They are all so anxious to help. Oh, Sir Edward — I feel, somehow, that you are going to find out that everything is all right, that none of us had anything to do with it — that, after all, it was an outsider.”

“I can’t do miracles. I may be able to find out the truth, but I can’t make the truth be what you want it to be.”

“Can’t you? I feel that you could do anything — anything.”

She left the room. He thought, disturbed, “What did she mean by that? Does she want me to suggest a line of defense? For whom?”

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a man about 50 years of age. He had a naturally powerful frame, but stooped slightly. His clothes were untidy and his hair carelessly brushed. He looked good-natured but vague.

“Sir Edward Palliser? Oh, how do you do? Magdalen sent me along. It’s very good of you, I’m sure, to wish to help us. Though I don’t think anything will ever be really discovered. I mean, they won’t catch the fellow.”

“You think it was a burglar, then — someone from outside?”

“Well, it must have been. It couldn’t be one of the family. These fellows are very clever nowadays — they climb like cats and they get in and out as they like.”

“Where were you, Mr. Crabtree, when the tragedy occurred?”

“I was busy with my stamps — in my little sitting room upstairs.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“No, but then I never do hear anything when I’m absorbed. Very foolish of me, but there it is.”

“Is the sitting room you refer to over this room?”

“No, it’s at the back.”

Again the door opened. A small fair woman entered. Her hands were twitching nervously. She looked fretful and excited.

“William, why didn’t you wait for me? I said ‘wait.’ ”

“Sorry, my dear, I forgot. Sir Edward Palliser — my wife.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Crabtree? I hope you don’t mind my coming here to ask a few questions. I know how anxious you must all be to have things cleared up.”

“Naturally. But I can’t tell you anything — can I, William? I was asleep — in my bed — I only woke up when Martha screamed.”

Her hands continued to twitch.

“Where is your room, Mrs. Crabtree?”

“It’s over this. But I didn’t hear anything — how could I? I was asleep.”

He could get nothing out of her but that. She knew nothing — she had heard nothing — she had been asleep. She reiterated it with the obstinacy of a frightened woman. Yet Sir Edward knew very well that it might easily be, probably was, the bare truth.

He excused himself at last — said he would like to put a few questions to Martha. William Crabtree volunteered to take him to the kitchen. In the hall Sir Edward nearly collided with a tall dark young man who was striding toward the front door.

“Mr. Matthew Vaughan?”

“Yes, but look here, I can’t wait. I’ve got an appointment.”

“Matthew!” It was his sister’s voice from the stairs. “Oh, Matthew, you promised—”

“I know, sis. But I can’t. Got to meet a fellow. And, anyway, what’s the good of talking about the damned thing over and over again. We have enough of that with the police. I’m fed up with the whole show.”

The front door banged. Mr. Matthew Vaughan had made his exit.

Sir Edward was introduced into the kitchen. Martha was ironing. She paused, iron in hand. Sir Edward shut the door behind him.

“Miss Vaughan has asked me to help her,” he said. “I hope you won’t object to my asking you a few questions.”

She looked at him, then shook her head.

“None of them did it, sir. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t so. As nice a set of ladies and gentlemen as you could wish to see.”

“I’ve no doubt of it. But their niceness isn’t what we call evidence, you know.”