Her voice sounded completely uninterested.
Roger Leonides came back with a rush, and the same bumble-bee effect.
I got held up, he said. Telephone. Well, Inspector? Well? Have you got news? What caused my fathers death?
Death was due to eserine poisoning.
It was? My God! Then it was that woman! She couldnt wait! He took her more or less out of the gutter and this is his reward. She murdered him in cold blood! God, it makes my blood boil to think of it.
Have you any particular reason for thinking that? Taverner asked.
Roger was pacing up and down[70], tugging at his hair with both hands.
Reason? Why, who else could it be? Ive never trusted hernever liked her! Weve none of us liked her. Philip and I were both appalled when Dad came home one day and told us what he had done! At his age! It was madness madness. My father was an amazing man, Inspector. In intellect he was as young and fresh as a man of forty. Everything I have in the world I owe to him. He did everything for menever failed me. It was I who failed himwhen I think of it
He dropped heavily on to a chair. His wife came quietly to his side.
Now, Roger, thats enough. Dont work yourself up.
I know, dearestI know, he took her hand. But how can I keep calmhow can I help feeling
But we must all keep calm, Roger. Chief Inspector Taverner wants our help.
That is right, Mrs Leonides.
Roger cried:
Do you know what Id like to do? Id like to strangle that woman with my own hands. Grudging that dear old man a few extra years of life. If I had her here He sprang up[71]. He was shaking with rage. He held out convulsive hands. Yes, Id wring her neck, wring her neck
Roger! said Clemency sharply.
Roger! said Clemency sharply.
He looked at her, abashed.
Sorry, dearest. He turned to us. I do apologize. My feelings get the better of me. Iexcuse me
He went out of the room again. Clemency Leonides said with a very faint smile:
Really, you know, he wouldnt hurt a fly.
Taverner accepted her remark politely.
Then he started on his so-called routine questions.
Clemency Leonides replied concisely and accurately.
Roger Leonides had been in London on the day of his fathers death at Box House, the headquarters of the Associated Catering. He had returned early in the afternoon and had spent some time with his father as was his custom. She herself had been, as usual, at the Lambert Institute in Gower Street where she worked. She had returned to the house just before six oclock.
Did you see your father-in-law?
No. The last time I saw him was on the day before. We had coffee with him after dinner.
But you did not see him on the day of his death?
No. I actually went over to his part of the house because Roger thought he had left his pipe therea very precious pipe, but as it happened he had left it on the hall table there, so I did not need to disturb the old man. He often dozed off[72] about six.
When did you hear of his illness?
Brenda came rushing over. That was just a mi nute or two after half-past six.
These questions, as I knew, were unimportant, but I was aware how keen was Inspector Taverners scrutiny of the woman who answered them. He asked her a few questions about the nature of her work in London. She said that it had to do with the radiation effects of atomic disintegration.
You work on the atom bomb, in fact?
The work has nothing destructive about it. The Institute is carrying out experiments on the therapeutic effects.
When Taverner got up, he expressed a wish to look round their part of the house. She seemed a little surprised, but showed him its extent readily enough. The bedroom with its twin beds and white coverlets and its simplified toilet appliances reminded me again of a hospital or some monastic cell. The bathroom, too, was severely plain with no special luxury fitting and no array of cosmetics. The kitchen was bare, spotlessly clean, and well equipped with labour-saving devices of a practical kind. Then we came to a door which Clemency opened, saying: This is my husbands special room.
Come in, said Roger. Come in.
I drew a faint breath of relief. Something in the spotless austerity elsewhere had been getting me down. This was an intensely personal room. There was a large roll-top desk untidily covered with papers, old pipes, and tobacco ash. There were big shabby easy-chairs. Persian rugs covered the floor. On the walls were groups, their photography somewhat faded. School groups, cricket groups, military groups. Water-colour sketches of deserts and minarets, and of sailing-boats and sea effects and sunsets. It was, somehow, a pleasant room, the room of a lovable, friendly, companionable man.
Roger, clumsily, was pouring out[73] drinks from a tantalus[74], sweeping books and papers off one of the chairs.
Place is in a mess. I was turning out. Clearing up old papers. Say when. The inspector declined a drink. I accepted. You must forgive me just now, went on Roger. He brought my drink over to me, turning his head to speak to Taverner as he did so. My feelings ran away with me.