Dance to Your Daddy

'Not very clearly. The most noticeable thing about the poor chap was that he had one leg shorter than the other and had to wear a surgical boot.'

'How did you know they were illegitimate?'

'Romilly told me. He was bleating about it in a mild sort of way, and saying that he didn't suppose his old man would leave him anything worth talking about, although he'd always acknowledged him and kept him and his brother, and all that.'

'What kind of man was Romilly?'

'As I remember him, he was diffident, kindly, a bit vague, but a completely harmless chap. He was a connoisseur of pictures, I remember. Spent all his money on good copies of old masters and said he intended to collect the real things when he could afford it. My five-pound loan, I remember, went to make up the price of a very fine copy of Francesco di Giorgio's Saint Dorothy walking with the Holy Child. I must say that he's just about the last man I should think of as a murderer, but, of course, when it's a question of money-'

'Did you ever hear whether Felix Napoleon's legitimate union was blest with children?'

'Yes, there was a son named Harvard, some years younger than Caesar, but he was killed in the war in 1944. I knew about him because he came up once or twice to see the other two, and I was invited to cocktails.'

'Would you know Romilly again, if you saw him?'

'I might, of course, but a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since my undergraduate days.'

'You knew that Felix Napoleon was dead?'

'I'd never thought about it. I don't read the obituary columns and I don't suppose his wife would have thought of inviting me to the funeral.'

'She may have pre-deceased him.'

'Yes, of course. Well, mother, I must say that your account of Romilly really does surprise me. He must have altered a very great deal since I knew him.'

'I am suffering from dear Laura's complaint, no doubt,' admitted Dame Beatrice.

'What's that?'

'A pricking of the thumbs. Besides, now that you have described your Romilly to me, I do not see how he could be (however much his nature may have changed) my Romilly.'

'Physical description doesn't fit?'

'You said that Romilly was small.'

'And dark. Of course, he's probably grey-haired by now.'

'How small was he?'

'Oh, almost a head shorter than I am, and I am six feet one and a half. I should say he stood about five feet four-call it five five with his shoes on.'

'And was very short-sighted?'

'So much so that, when he mislaid his glasses one day-took them off to have a bath-I had to find them for him because he usually put them in their case on the bathroom stool, but this time had left them in his room and had been groping about for them in there for ages before he heard me on the stairs and yelled for my assistance.'

'Short sight is not usually a disability which cures itself as the years roll by. The younger brother, you tell me, had a club foot.'

'Yes. I wonder whether it had warped him a bit. His writings for his unofficial rag were extremely spiteful.'

'So, if my host at Galliard Hall is not the real Romilly, neither is he likely to be Romilly's brother Caesar. I did well to go to Selina and be referred to you. These are deeper waters than I had suspected. However, nothing is lost by making sure. Could you make it convenient to call at Galliard Hall at some time during the next few days so that you can meet this pseudo-Romilly?'

'On what pretext?'

'That you have heard from me that he has some very fine pictures, and you are wondering whether he would be willing to part with the Raeburn, as you particularly want to give it as an anniversary present to your wife, whose negotiations for a Raeburn have recently broken down. You are safe enough in making this offer. The pictures are not his to sell, as he is not the owner of Galliard Hall.'

'I wouldn't recognise a Raeburn if you handed one to me on a plate.'

'With watercress round it, as Laura's favourite author would remark. The Raeburn is the first portrait you come to as you enter the hall.'

'Very well. I can manage tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right.'

'Do not mention, of course, that you knew Romilly at Cambridge, unless you believe that this man really is Romilly Lestrange.'

'Now what do you take me for, mother!'

'I apologise.'

'Good. Let's rejoin the family, or they'll be complaining that I keep you all to myself. You look as though you're enjoying all this Romilly business, though. Are you?'