LITMIR.BIZ

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her other brother – Timothy – was it?’

      ‘Yes, Timothy.’

      ‘She said it was over twenty years since she had seen him and that she hoped he would have been there, but she quite realized he would have thought it better not to come under the circumstances, but that his wife was there and that she’d never been able to stand Maude – oh dear, I do beg your pardon, Mr Entwhistle – it just slipped out – I never meant –’

      ‘Not at all. Not at all,’ said Mr Entwhistle encouragingly. ‘I am no relation, you know. And I believe that Cora and her sister-in-law never hit it off very well.’

      ‘Well, she almost said as much. “I always knew Maude would grow into one of those bossy interfering women,” is what she said. And then she was very tired and said she’d go to bed at once – I’d got her hot-water bottle in all ready – and she went up.’

      ‘She said nothing else that you can remember specially?’

      ‘She had no premonition, Mr Entwhistle, if that is what you mean. I’m sure of that. She was really, you know, in remarkably good spirits – apart from tiredness and the – the sad occasion. She asked me how I’d like to go to Capri. To Capri! Of course I said it would be too wonderful – it’s a thing I’d never dreamed I’d ever do – and she said, “We’ll go!” Just like that. I gathered – of course it wasn’t actually mentioned – that her brother had left her an annuity or something of the kind.’

      Mr Entwhistle nodded. ‘Poor dear. Well, I’m glad she had the pleasure of planning – at all events.’ Miss Gilchrist sighed and murmured wistfully, ‘I don’t suppose I shall ever go to Capri now . . .’

      ‘And the next morning?’ Mr Entwhistle prompted, oblivious of Miss Gilchrist’s disappointments.

      ‘The next morning Mrs Lansquenet wasn’t at all well. Really, she looked dreadful. She’d hardly slept at all, she told me. Nightmares. “It’s because you were overtired yesterday,” I told her, and she said maybe it was. She had her breakfast in bed, and she didn’t get up all the morning, but at lunch-time she told me that she still hadn’t been able to sleep. “I feel so restless,” she said. “I keep thinking of things and wondering.” And then she said she’d take some sleeping tablets and try and get a good sleep in the afternoon. And she wanted me to go over by bus to Reading and change her two library books, because she’d finished them both on the train journey and she hadn’t got anything to read. Usually two books lasted her nearly a week. So I went off just after two and that – and that – was the last time –’ Miss Gilchrist began to sniff. ‘She must have been asleep, you know. She wouldn’t have heard anything and the Inspector assures me that she didn’t suffer . . . He thinks the first blow killed her. Oh dear, it makes me quite sick even to think of it!’

      ‘Please, please. I’ve no wish to take you any further over what happened. All I wanted was to hear what you could tell me about Mrs Lansquenet before the tragedy.’

      ‘Very natural, I’m sure. Do tell her relations that apart from having such a bad night she was really very happy and looking forward to the future.’

      Mr Entwhistle paused before asking his next question. He wanted to be careful not to lead the witness.

      ‘She did not mention any of her relations in particular?’

      ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’ Miss Gilchrist considered. ‘Except what she said about being sorry not to see her brother Timothy.’

      ‘She did not speak at all about her brother’s decease? The – er – cause of it? Anything like that?’

      ‘No.’

      There was no sign of alertness in Miss Gilchrist’s face. Mr Entwhistle felt certain there would have been if Cora had plumped out her verdict of murder.

      ‘He’d been ill for some time, I think,’ said Miss Gilchrist vaguely, ‘though I must say I was surprised to hear it. He looked so very vigorous.’

      Mr Entwhistle said quickly:

      ‘You saw him – when?’

      ‘When he came down here to see Mrs Lansquenet. Let me see – that was about three weeks ago.’

      ‘Did he stay here?’

      ‘Oh – no – just came for luncheon. It was quite a surprise. Mrs Lansquenet hadn’t expected him. I gather there had been some family disagreement. She hadn’t seen him for years, she told me.’

      ‘Yes, that is so.’

      ‘It quite upset her – seeing him again – and probably realizing how ill he was –’

      ‘She knew he was ill?’

      ‘Oh yes, I remember quite well. Because I wondered – only in my own mind, you understand – if perhaps Mr Abernethie might be suffering from softening of the brain. An aunt of mine –’

      Mr Entwhistle deftly side-tracked the aunt. ‘Something Mrs Lansquenet said caused you to think of softening of the brain?’

      ‘Yes. Mrs Lansquenet said something like “Poor Richard. Mortimer’s death must have aged him a lot. He sounds quite senile. All these fancies about persecution and that someone is poisoning him. Old people get like that.” And of course, as I knew, that is only too true. This aunt that I was telling you about – was convinced the servants were trying to poison her in her food and at last would eat only boiled eggs – because, she said, you couldn’t get inside a boiled egg to poison it. We humoured her, but if it had been nowadays I don’t know what we should have done. With eggs so scarce and mostly foreign at that, so that boiling is always risky.’

      Mr Entwhistle listened to the saga of Miss Gilchrist’s aunt with deaf ears. He was very much disturbed.

      He said at last, when Miss Gilchrist had twittered into silence:

      ‘I suppose Mrs Lansquenet didn’t take all this too seriously?’

      ‘Oh no, Mr Entwhistle, she quite understood.’

      Mr Entwhistle found that remark disturbing too, though not quite in the sense in which Miss Gilchrist had used it.

      Had Cora Lansquenet understood? Not then, perhaps, but later. Had she understood only too well?

      Mr Entwhistle knew that there had been no senility about Richard Abernethie. Richard had been in full possession of his faculties. He was not the man to have persecution mania in any form. He was, as he always had been, a hard-headed business man – and his illness made no difference in that respect.

      It seemed extraordinary that he should have spoken to his sister in the terms that he had. But perhaps Cora, with her odd childlike shrewdness, had read between the lines, and had crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s of what Richard Abernethie had actually said.

      In most ways, thought Mr Entwhistle, Cora had been a complete fool. She had no judgement, no balance, and a crude childish point of view, but she had also the child’s uncanny knack of sometimes hitting the nail on the head in a way that seemed quite startling.

      Mr Entwhistle left it at that. Miss Gilchrist, he thought, knew no more than she had told him. He asked whether she knew if Cora Lansquenet had left a will. Miss Gilchrist replied promptly that Mrs Lansquenet’s will was at the Bank.

      With that and after making certain further arrangements he took his leave. He insisted on Miss Gilchrist’s accepting a small sum in cash to defray present expenses and told her he would communicate with her again, and in the meantime he would be grateful if she would stay on at the cottage while she was looking about for a new post. That would be, Miss Gilchrist said, a great convenience and really she was not at all nervous.

      He was unable to escape without being shown round the cottage by Miss Gilchrist, and introduced to various pictures by the late Pierre Lansquenet which were crowded into the small dining-room and which made Mr Entwhistle flinch

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