Agatha Christie: Crooked House

"Oh Laurence!" she shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Men must look after themselves. But Aristide would never forgive us if -" She left the sentence unfinished.

Then she said:

"It must be almost lunch time. We'd better go in."

I explained that I was going up to

London.

"In your car?"

"Yes."

"H'm. I wonder if you'd take me with you. I gather we're allowed off the lead now."

"Of course I will, but I believe Magda and Sophia are going up after lunch. You'll be more comfortable with them than in my two seater."

"I don't want to go with them. Take me with you, and don't say much about it."

I was surprised, but I did as she asked.

We did not speak much on the way to town. I asked her where I should put her down.

"Harley Street."

I felt some faint apprehension, but I didn5! like to say anything. She continued:

"No, it's too early. Drop me at Debenhams. I can have some lunch there and go to Harley Street afterwards."

"I hope -" I began and stopped.

"That^ why I didn't want to go up with Magda. She dramatizes things. Lot of fuss."

"I'm very sorry," I said.

"You needn't be. Fve had a good life. A very good life." She gave a sudden grin.

"And it's not over yet."

I had not seen my father for some days.

I found him busy with things other than the Leonides case, and I went in search of Taverner.

Taverner was enjoying a short spell of leisure and was willing to come out and have a drink with me.. I congratulated him on having cleared up the case and he accepted my congratulations, but his manner remained far from jubilant.

"Well, that's over," he said. "We've got a case. Nobody can deny that we've got a case."

"Do you think you'll get a conviction?"

"Impossible to say. The evidence is circumstantial - it nearly always is in a murder case - bound to be. A lot depends on the impression they make on the jury."

"How far do the letters go?"

"At first sight, Charles, they're pretty damning. There are references to their life together when her husband's dead. Phrases like - 'it won't be long now.' Mind you, defence counsel will try and twist it the other way - the husband was so old that of course they could reasonably expect him to die. There's no actual mention of poisoning - not down in black or white -but there are some passages that could mean that. It depends what judge we get. If it's old Carberry he'll be down on them all through. He's always very righteous about illicit love. I suppose they'll have Eagles or Humphrey Kerr for the defence - Humphrey is magnificent in these cases - but he likes a gallant war record or something of that kind to help him do his stuff. A conscientious objector is going to cramp his style. The question is going to be will the jury like them? You can never tell with juries. You know, Charles, those two are not really sympathetic characters. She's a good looking woman who married a very old man for his money, and Brown is a neurotic conscientious objector. The crime is so familiar - so according to pattern that you can't really believe they didn't do it. Of course, they may decide that he did it and she knew nothing about it - or alternatively that she did it, and he didn't know about it - or they may decide that they were both in it together."

"And what do you yourself think?" I asked.

He looked at me with a wooden expressionless face.

"I don't think anything. I've turned in the facts and they went to the D.P.P. and it was decided that there was a case. That's all. I've done my duty and I'm out of it.

So now you know, Charles."

But I didn't know. I saw that for some reason Taverner was unhappy.

It was not until three days later that I unburdened myself to my father. He himself had never mentioned the case to me. There had been a kind of restraint between us -and I thought I knew the reason for it. But I had to break down that barrier.

"We've got to have this out," I said.

"Taverner's not satisfied that those two did it - and you're not satisfied either."

My father shook his head. He said what

Taverner had said:

"It's out of our hands. There is a case to answer. No question about that."

"But you don't - Taverner doesn't -think that they're guilty?"

"That's for a jury to decide."

"For God's sake," I said, "don't put me off with technical terms. What do you think - both of you - personally?"

"My personal opinion is no better than yours, Charles."

"Yes, it is. You've more experience."

"Then I'll be honest with you. I just -don't know!"

"They could be guilty?"

"Oh yes."

"But you don't feel sure that they are?"

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"How can one be sure?"

"Don't fence with me, dad. You've been sure other times, haven't you? Dead sure? No doubt in your mind at all?"

"Sometimes, yes. Not always."

"I wish to God you were sure this time."

"So do I."

We were silent. I was thinking of those two figures drifting in from the garden in the dusk. Lonely and haunted and afraid.

They had been afraid from the start. Didn't that show a guilty conscience?

But I answered myself: "Not necessarily."

Both Brenda and Laurence were afraid of life - they had no confidence in themselves, in their ability to avoid danger and defeat, and they could see, only too clearlv. the pattern of illicit love leading to murder which might involve them at any moment.

My father spoke, and his voice was grave and kind:

"Come, Charles," he said, "let's face it.

You've still got it in your mind, haven't you, that one of the Leonides family is the real culprit?"

"Not really. I only wonder -"

"You do think so. You may be wrong, but you do think so."

"Yes," I said.

"Why?"

"Because -" I thought about it, trying to see clearly - to bring my wits to bear - "because" (yes, that was it) "because they think so themselves."

"They think so themselves? That's interesting.

That's very interesting. Do you mean that they all suspect each other, or that they know, actually, who did do it."

"I'm not sure," I said. "It's all very nebulous and confused. I think - on the whole - that they try to cover up the knowledge from themselves." ^My father nodded.

"Not Roger," I said. "Roger wholeheartedly believes it was Brenda and he wholeheartedly wants her hanged. It's - it's a relief to be with Roger because he's simple and positive, and hasn't any reservations in the back of his mind.

"But the others are apologetic, they're uneasy - they urge me to be sure that Brenda has the best defence - that every possible advantage is given her - why?"

My father answered:

"Because they don't really, in their hearts, believe she is guilty… Yes, that's sound."

Then he asked quietly:

K "Who could have done it? You've talked to them all? Who's the best bet?"

"I don't know," I said. "And it's driving me frantic. None of them fits your 'sketch of a murderer' and yet I feel - I do feel - that one of them is a murderer."

"Sophia?"

"No. Good God, no!"

"The possibility's in your mind, Charles - yes, it is, don't deny it. All the more potently because you won't acknowledge it.

What about the others? Philip?"

"Only for the most fantastic motive."

"Motives can be fantastic - or they can be absurdly slight. What's his motive?"

"He is bitterly jealous of Roger - always has been all his life. His father's preference for Roger drove Philip in upon himself.

Roger was about to crash, then the old man heard of it. He promised to put Roger on his feet again. Supposing Philip learnt that. If the old man died that night there would be no assistance for Roger. Roger would be down and out. Oh! I know it's absurd -"