Agatha Christie: Crooked House

"Well," I said, "what's the answer?"

"The only idea I got to begin with was that it was intended to tie in with someone's alibi. Somebody would have a nice fat alibi for the time when Josephine was being slugged. But that doesn't wash because, to begin with, nobody seems to have any kind of alibi, and secondly someone's bound to look for the child at lunchtime, and they'll find the booby trap and the marble b100^3 the whole modus operand! will be ^u1 e plain to see. Of course, if the murder^ removed the block before the chiP was found, then we might have been pu22,'

But as it is the whole thing just d068111 make sense."

He stretched out his hands..,„ ' «"i «

"And what's your present explanat^01

"The personal element. Personal id^05^" crasy. Laurence Brown's idiosyncrasy- e doesn't like violence - he can't Iorce himself to do physical violence. He [[i^ y couldn't have stood behind the doo^ an socked the kid on the head. He cou^ n^ -*- c f^f~^ up a booby trap and go away and n^1 it happen."

"Yes, I see," I said slowly. "It^. me eserine in the insulin bottle all over a^^11' "Exactly."

"Do you think he did that w^0^

Brenda's knowing?"

"It would explain why she didn't /throw away the insulin bottle. Of course, y /~\T* may have fixed it up between them ~^~., she may have thought up the poison trlcK all by herself - a nice easy death fc^ er tired old husband and all for the b^1 m the best of possible worlds! But I b^ she didn't fix the booby trap. Women never have any faith in mechanical things working properly. And are they right. I think myself the eserine was her idea, but that she made her besotted slave do the switch. She's the kind that usually manages to avoid doing anything equi vocable themselves. Then they keep a nice happy conscience."

He paused then went on:

"With these letters I think the D.P.P. will say we have a case. They'll take a bit of explaining away! Then 5 if the kid gets through all right everything in the garden will be lovely." He gave me a sideways glance. "How does it feel to be engaged to about a million pounds sterling?"

I winced. In the excitement of the last few hours, I had forgotten the developments about the will.

"Sophia doesn't know yet," I said. "Do you want me to tell her?"

"I understand Gaitskill is going to break the sad (or glad) news after the inquest tomorrow." Taverner paused and looked at me thoughtfully.

"I wonder," he said, "what the reactions will be from the family?"

The inquest went off much as I had prophesied.

It was adjourned at the request of the police.

We were in good spirits for news had come through the night before from the hospital that Josephine's injuries were much less serious than had been feared and that her recovery would be rapid. For the moment. Dr. Gray said, she was to be allowed no visitors - not even her mother.

"Particularly not her mother," Sophia murmured to me. "I made that quite clear to Dr. Gray. Anyway, he knows Mother."

I must have looked rather doubtful for

Sophia said sharply:

"Why the disapproving look?"

"Well - surely a mother -"

"I'm glad you've got a few nice old fashioned ideas, Charles. But you don't quite know what my mother is capable of yet. The darling can't help it, but there would simply have to be a grand dramatic scene. And dramatic scenes aren't the best things for anyone recovering from head injuries."

"You do think of everything, don't you, my sweet."

"Well, somebody's got to do the thinking now that grandfather's gone."

I looked at her speculatively. I saw that old Leonides's acumen had not deserted him. The mantle of his responsibilities was already on Sophia's shoulders.

After the inquest, Gaitskill accompanied us back to Three Gables. He cleared his throat and said pontifically:

"There is an announcement it is my duty to make to you all."

For this purpose the family assembled in Magda's drawing room. I had on this occasion the rather pleasurable sensations of the man behind the scenes. I knew in advance what Gaitskill had to say.

I prepared myself to observe the reactions of everyone.

Gaitskill was brief and dry. Any signs of personal feeling and annoyance were well held in check. He read first Aristide Leonides's letter and then the will itself. t+ woe ^rv interestine to watch. I only wished my eyes could be everywhere at once.

I did not pay much attention to Brenda and Laurence. The provision for Brenda in this will was the same. I watched primarily Roger and Philip, and after them Magda and Clemency.

My first impression was that they all behaved very well.

Philip's lips were pressed closely together, his handsome head was thrown back against the tall chair in which he was sitting. He did not speak.

Magda, on the contrary, burst into speech as soon as Mr. Gaitskill finished, her rich voice surging over his thin tones like an incoming tide drowning a rivulet.

"Darling Sophia - how extraordinary … How romantic… Fancy old Sweetie Pie being so cunning and deceitful - just like a dear old baby. Didn't he trust us? Did he think we'd be cross? He never seemed to be fonder of Sophia than of the rest of us. But really, it's most dramatic."

Suddenly Magda jumped lightly to her feet, danced over to Sophia and swept her a very grand court curtsey.

"Madame Sophia, your penniless and broken down old mother begs you for alms." Her voice took on a cockney whine.

"Spare us a copper, old dear. Your Ma wants to go to the pictures."

Her hand, crooked into a claw, twitched urgently at Sophia.

Philip, without moving, said through stiff lips:

"Please Magda, there's no call for any unnecessary clowning.'' "Oh, but, Roger," cried Magda, suddenly turning to Roger. "Poor darling Roger.

Sweetie was going to come to the rescue and then, before he could do it, he died.

And now Roger doesn't get anything.

Sophia," she turned imperiously, "you simply must do something about Roger."

"No," said Clemency. She had moved forward a step. Her face was defiant.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Roger came shambling over to Sophia like a large amiable bear.

He took her hands affectionately.

"I don't want a penny, my dear girl. As soon as this business is cleared up - or has died down, which is more what it looks like - then Clemency and I are off to the West Indies and the simple life. If I'm ever in extremis I'll apply to the head of the f^m\}\T -"}-i{^ crrinnpd at hpr enffarinelv - "but until then I don't want a penny. I'm a very simple person really, my dear - you ask Clemency if I'm not."

An unexpected voice broke in. It was

Edith de Haviland's.

"That's all very well," she said. "But you've to pay some attention to the look of the thing. If you go bankrupt, Roger, and then slink off to the ends of the earth without Sophia's holding out a helping hand, there will be a good deal of ill natured talk that will not be pleasant for Sophia."

"What does public opinion matter?" asked Clemency scornfully.

"We know it doesn't to you. Clemency," said Edith de Haviland sharply, "but Sophia lives in this world. She's a girl with good brains and a good heart, and I've no doubt that Aristide was quite right in his selection of her to hold the family fortunes - though to pass over your two sons in their lifetime seems odd to our English ideas - but I think it would be very unfortunate if it got about that she behaved greedily over this - and had let Roger crash without trying to help him."

Roger went over to his aunt. He put his arms round her and hugged her.

"Aunt Edith," he said. "You are a darling - and a stubborn fighter, but you don't begin to understand. Clemency and I know what we want - and what we don't want!"

Clemency, a sudden spot of colour showing in each thin cheek, stood defiantly facing them.