There was a moment’s rather uncomfortable silence before Mr Entwhistle said quietly:
‘Yes, it is indeed very odd . . .’
IV
Mr Entwhistle studied Susan Banks as she leant forward across the table talking in her animated manner.
None of the loveliness of Rosamund here. But it was an attractive face and its attraction lay, Mr Entwhistle decided, in its vitality. The curves of the mouth were rich and full. It was a woman’s mouth and her body was very decidedly a woman’s – emphatically so. Yet in many ways Susan reminded him of her uncle, Richard Abernethie. The shape of her head, the line of her jaw, the deep-set reflective eyes. She had the same kind of dominant personality that Richard had had, the same driving energy, the same foresightedness and forthright judgement. Of the three members of the younger generation she alone seemed to be made of the metal that had raised up the vast Abernethie fortunes. Had Richard recognized in this niece a kindred spirit to his own? Mr Entwhistle thought he must have done. Richard had always had a keen appreciation of character. Here, surely, were exactly the qualities of which he was in search. And yet, in his will, Richard Abernethie had made no distinction in her favour. Distrustful, as Mr Entwhistle believed, of George, passing over that lovely dimwit, Rosamund – could he not have found in Susan what he was seeking – an heir of his own mettle?
If not, the cause must be – yes, it followed logically – the husband . . .
Mr Entwhistle’s eyes slid gently over Susan’s shoulder to where Gregory Banks stood absently whittling at a pencil.
A thin, pale, nondescript young man with reddish sandy hair. So overshadowed by Susan’s colourful personality that it was difficult to realize what he himself was really like. Nothing to take hold of in the fellow – quite pleasant, ready to be agreeable – a ‘yes’ man, as the modern term went. And yet that did not seem to describe him satisfactorily. There was something vaguely disquieting about the unobtrusiveness of Gregory Banks. He had been an unsuitable match – yet Susan had insisted on marrying him – had overborne all opposition – why? What had she seen in him?
And now, six months after the marriage – ‘She’s crazy about the fellow,’ Mr Entwhistle said to himself. He knew the signs. A large number of wives with matrimonial troubles had passed through the office of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard. Wives madly devoted to unsatisfactory and often what appeared quite unprepossessing husbands, wives contemptuous of, and bored by, apparently attractive and impeccable husbands. What any woman saw in some particular man was beyond the comprehension of the average intelligent male. It just was so. A woman who could be intelligent about everything else in the world could be a complete fool when it came to some particular man. Susan, thought Mr Entwhistle, was one of those women. For her the world revolved around Greg. And that had its dangers in more ways than one.
Susan was talking with emphasis and indignation.
‘– because it is disgraceful. You remember that woman who was murdered in Yorkshire last year? Nobody was ever arrested. And the old woman in the sweet shop who was killed with a crowbar. They detained some man, and then they let him go!’
‘There has to be evidence, my dear,’ said Mr Entwhistle.
Susan paid no attention.
‘And that other case – a retired nurse – that was a hatchet or an axe – just like Aunt Cora.’
‘Dear me, you appear to have made quite a study of these crimes, Susan,’ said Mr Entwhistle mildly.
‘Naturally one remembers these things – and when someone in one’s own family is killed – and in very much the same way – well, it shows that there must be a lot of these sorts of people going round the countryside, breaking into places and attacking lonely women – and that the police just don’t bother!’
Mr Entwhistle shook his head.
‘Don’t belittle the police, Susan. They are a very shrewd and patient body of men – persistent, too. Just because it isn’t still mentioned in the newspapers doesn’t mean that a case is closed. Far from it.’
‘And yet there are hundreds of unsolved crimes every year.’
‘Hundreds?’ Mr Entwhistle looked dubious. ‘A certain number, yes. But there are many occasions when the police know who has committed a crime but where the evidence is insufficient for a prosecution.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Susan. ‘I believe if you knew definitely who committed a crime you could always get the evidence.’
‘I wonder now.’ Mr Entwhistle sounded thoughtful. ‘I very much wonder . . .’
‘Have they any idea at all – in Aunt Cora’s case – of who it might be?’
‘That I couldn’t say. Not as far as I know. But they would hardly confide in me – and it’s early days yet – the murder took place only the day before yesterday, remember.’
‘It’s definitely got to be a certain kind of person,’ Susan mused. ‘A brutal, perhaps slightly half-witted type – a discharged soldier or a gaol bird. I mean, using a hatchet like that.’
Looking slightly quizzical, Mr Entwhistle raised his eyebrows and murmured:
‘Lizzie Borden with an axe
Gave her father fifty whacks.
When she saw what she had done
She gave her mother fifty-one.’
‘Oh,’ Susan flushed angrily, ‘Cora hadn’t got any relations living with her – unless you mean the companion. And anyway Lizzie Borden was acquitted. Nobody knows for certain she killed her father and stepmother.’
‘The rhyme is quite definitely libellous,’ Mr Entwhistle agreed.
‘You mean the companion did do it? Did Cora leave her anything?’
‘An amethyst brooch of no great value and some sketches of fishing villages of sentimental value only.’
‘One has to have a motive for murder – unless one is half-witted.’
Mr Entwhistle gave a little chuckle.
‘As far as one can see, the only person who had a motive is you, my dear Susan.’
‘What’s that?’ Greg moved forward suddenly. He was like a sleeper coming awake. An ugly light showed in his eyes. He was suddenly no longer a negligible feature in the background. ‘What’s Sue got to do with it? What do you mean – saying things like that?’
Susan said sharply:
‘Shut up, Greg. Mr Entwhistle doesn’t mean anything –’
‘Just my little joke,’ said Mr Entwhistle apologetically. ‘Not in the best taste, I’m afraid. Cora left her estate, such as it was, to you, Susan. But to a young lady who has just inherited several hundred thousand pounds, an estate, amounting at the most to a few hundreds, can hardly be said to represent a motive for murder.’
‘She left her money to me?’ Susan sounded surprised. ‘How extraordinary. She didn’t even know me! Why did she do it, do you think?’
‘I think she had heard rumours that there had been a little difficulty – er – over your marriage.’ Greg, back again at sharpening his pencil, scowled. ‘There had been a certain amount of trouble over her own marriage – and I think she experienced a fellow feeling.’
Susan asked with a certain amount of interest:
‘She married an artist, didn’t she, whom none of the family liked? Was he a good artist?’
Mr Entwhistle shook his head very decidedly.
‘Are there any of his paintings in the cottage?’
‘Yes.’
Then I shall judge for myself,’ said Susan.
Mr Entwhistle smiled at the resolute tilt of Susan’s chin.
‘So be it. Doubtless I am an old fogey and hopelessly old-fashioned in matters of art, but I really don’t think you will dispute my verdict.’
‘I suppose I ought to go down there, anyway? And look over what there is. Is there anybody there now?’
‘I have arranged with Miss Gilchrist to remain there until further notice.’
Greg said: ‘She must have a pretty good nerve – to stay in a cottage where a murder’s been committed.’
‘Miss Gilchrist is quite a sensible woman, I should say. Besides,’ added the lawyer drily, ‘I don’t think she has anywhere else to go until she gets another situation.’
‘So Aunt Cora’s death left her high and dry? Did she – were she and Aunt Cora – on intimate terms –?’
Mr Entwhistle looked at her rather curiously, wondering just what exactly was in her mind.
‘Moderately so, I imagine,’ he said. ‘She never treated Miss Gilchrist as a servant.’
‘Treated her a damned sight worse, I dare say,’ said Susan. ‘These wretched so called “ladies” are the ones who get it taken out of them nowadays. I’ll try and find her a decent post somewhere. It won’t be difficult. Anyone who’s willing to do a bit of housework and cook is worth their weight in gold – she does cook, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh yes. I gather it is something she called, er “the rough” that she objected to. I’m afraid I don’t quite know what “the rough” is.’
Susan appeared to be a good deal amused.
Mr Entwhistle, glancing at his watch, said:
‘Your aunt left Timothy her executor.’
‘Timothy,’ said Susan with scorn. ‘Uncle Timothy is practically a myth. Nobody ever sees him.’
‘Quite.’ Mr Entwhistle glanced at his watch. ‘I am travelling up to see him this afternoon. I will acquaint him with your decision to go down to the cottage.’
‘It will only take me a day or two, I imagine. I don’t want to be long away from London. I’ve got various schemes in hand. I’m going into business.’
Mr Entwhistle looked round him at the cramped sitting-room of the tiny flat. Greg and Susan were evidently hard up. Her father, he knew, had run through most of his money. He had left his daughter badly off.
‘What are your plans for the future, if I may ask?’
‘I’ve got my eye on some premises in Cardigan Street. I suppose, if necessary, you can advance me some money? I may have to pay a deposit.’
‘That can be managed,’ said Mr Entwhistle. ‘I rang you up the day after the funeral several times – but could get no answer. I thought perhaps you might care for an advance. I wondered whether you might perhaps have gone out of Town.’
‘Oh no,’ said Susan quickly. ‘We were in all day. Both of us. We didn’t go out at all.’
Greg said gently: ‘You know Susan, I think our telephone must have been out of order that day. You remember how I couldn’t get through to Hard and Co. in the afternoon. I meant to report it, but it was all right the next morning.’
‘Telephones,’ said Mr Entwhistle, ‘can be very unreliable sometimes.’
Susan said suddenly:
‘How did Aunt Cora know about our marriage? It was at a Registry Office and we didn’t tell anyone until afterwards!’
‘I fancy Richard may have told her about it. She remade her will about three weeks ago (it was formerly in favour of the Theosophical Society) – just about the time he had been down to see her.’
Susan looked startled.
‘Did Uncle Richard go down to see her? I’d no idea of that?’
‘I hadn’t any idea of it myself,’ said Mr Entwhistle.
‘So that was when –’
‘When what?’
‘Nothing,’ said Susan.
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