Crooked House. Agatha Christie

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 bonds and securities—so that I could use the capital as I chose. He also settled very generous amounts on my two sisters, who 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 the 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 in 1946. 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 are 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!’