"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 her.
"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?"
"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 considerable 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?"
"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 breakfast, as was my custom."
"Were you alone with him then?"
"My - er - 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." 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 bond and securities - so that I could use the capital as I chose. He also settled very generous amounts on my two sisters which 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 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 was 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?"
"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!"
Chapter 7
"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."
"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 high-brow 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 amateur class rather than the professional. She's good, mind you, especially in comedy - but managers don't like her much - they say she's too independent, and she's a trouble maker - foments rows and enjoys a bit of mischief making. I don't know how much of it is true - but she's not too popular amongst her fellow artists."
Sophia came out of the drawing room and said "My mother is in here, Chief Inspector."
I followed Taverner into the big drawing room. For a moment I hardly recognised the woman who sat on the brocaded settee.
The Titian hair was piled high on her head in an Edwardian coiffure, and she was dressed in a well cut dark grey coat and skirt with a delicately pleated pale mauve shirt fastened at the neck by a small cameo brooch. For the first time I was aware of the charm of her delightfully tip tilted nose.
I was faintly reminded of Athene Seyler - and it seemed quite impossible to believe that this was the tempestuous creature in the peach negligee.
"Inspector Taverner?" she said. "Do come in and sit down. Will you smoke? This is a most terrible business. I simply feel at the moment that I just can't take it."
Her voice was low and emotionless, the voice of a person determined at all costs to display self control. She went on: "Please tell me if I can help you in any way."
"Thank you, Mrs Leonides. Where were you at the time of the tragedy?"
"I suppose I must have been driving down from London. I'd lunched that day at the Ivy with a friend. Then we'd gone to a dress show. We had a drink with some other friends at the Berkeley. Then I started home. When I got here everything was in commotion. It seemed my father-in-law had had a sudden seizure. He was - dead."
Her voice trembled just a little.
"You were fond of your father-in-law?"
"I was devoted -"
Her voice rose. Sophia adjusted, very slightly, the angle of the Degas picture. Magda's voice dropped to its former subdued tone.
"I was very fond of him," she said in a quiet voice. "We all were. He was - very good to us."
"Did you get on well with Mrs Leonides?"
"We didn't see very much of Brenda."
"Why was that?"
"Well, we hadn't much in common. Poor dear Brenda. Life must have been hard for her sometimes."
Again Sophia fiddled with the Degas.
"Indeed? In what way?"
"Oh, I don't know." Magda shook her head, with a sad little smile.
"Was Mrs Leonides happy with her husband?"
"Oh, I think so."
"No quarrels?"
Again the slight smiling shake of the head.
"I really don't know, Inspector. Their part of the house is quite separate."
"She and Mr Laurence Brown were very friendly, were they not?"
Magda Leonides stiffened. Her eyes opened reproachfully at Taverner.
"I don't think," she said with dignity, "that you ought to ask me things like that. Brenda was quite friendly to everyone. She is really a very amiable sort of person."
