than usual. And then there’s this extraordinary busing, about his trying to strangle Father! Upon my word Char, I could hardly believe it! I don’t hold any brief for Ray, but I honestly didn’t think he was as bad as that. Seems to me a perfectly astonishing affair.”
“Yes,” Charmian agreed thoughtfully. “I wonder what Father did to make him lose his temper to that extent?”
“Oh, some row about money! They’ve had any number.”
“I know that. But they never ended in that kind of a scene before. I can’t help feeling that there’s something very odd behind it.”
“Connected with Uncle Phin?”
“That I can’t make up my mind about.”
“Frightful thing if it was Ray,” Ingram remarked, in rather an unconvincing tone.
Charmian disliked blatant insincerity, and said at once: “It would suit your book all right, wouldn’t it?”
“Now, look here, Char!” expostulated Ingram, reddening. “That’s a poisonous thing to say! I don’t pretend that I’ve ever got on with Ray, but I call it a bit thick to insinuate…”
“I wasn’t insinuating. You can’t stand Ray at any price, and he can’t stand you. You probably think you’d make a better head of the family than he will, and you know darned well that life won’t be nearly so easy for you now he’s holding the purse-strings.”
Ingram looked disconcerted by this forthright speech, and muttered: “Never thought of such things! All the same, I shouldn’t want to get rid of the rest of the family if I were the heir!”
“Well, my opinion is that it may be the saving of the family to be obliged to fend for themselves.”
As Ingram chose to take this as a reflection upon himself, the interview came to an abrupt end. Charmian went away to write her nightly letter to Leila Morpeth; and Ingram returned to the Yellow drawing-room to propound his views to Eugene.
Eugene, who was more worried than he cared to admit, would have subscribed to any theory which exonerated Vivian; and although he privately considered it unlikely that Raymond would have descended to such a weapon as poison, he did not like Raymond, knew very well that he would receive little, if any, pecuniary assistance from him in the future, and so experienced no difficulty in suppressing his inner scepticism, and discovering a number of good reasons for believing him to be guilty. Clara was distressed, and made several attempts to put an end to the discussion, maintaining stoutly her conviction that it was Jimmy who had killed Penhallow; but Vivian, who for all her brazen attitude was haunted by dread, supported Ingram, rather in the manner of one catching at a straw. Clay, who had come back into the room, also added his mite, with more eagerness than was seemly; but he was speedily reduced to silence by Aubrey, who looked up from his needlework to say kindly: “Dear little fellow, we all feel sure you believe Ray did it, but you must learn to be seen and not heard. Besides, it’s very dangerous to draw attention to yourself. What with one thing and another — well, you see my point, don’t you?”
This had the effect, first of shutting Clay up, and then of making him leave the room to seek reassurance of his mother.
Faith, coaxed by Loveday to eat some dinner, feeling better, and had begun to argue herself into the belief that the police would never discover the authors of the crime; but a very little of her son’s companionship sufficed to throw her back into a condition of extreme terror. Clay’s account of the discussion at present in progress downstairs made her eyes dilate. She sail faintly: “No, no! Of course it wasn’t Ray! How can they say such a thing?”
“Well, but Mother, you must admit it does look fishy. I mean, we know he went for Father yesterday morning_
he didn’t deny it. And, on top of that, we know he had rows with Father about his spending so much. Then, too, he’s the heir. What’s more, he’s behaving damned queerly, you know. Of course, I know he’s always a surly sort of a chap, but honestly, Mother, ever since Father was killed-’
“Stop!” Faith exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed. “You mustn’t say such things, Clay! I — I forbid you! It’s wicked! I know Ray didn’t do it!”
“It’s all very well to say that, but you can’t know it,” objected Clay. “It’s obvious the police have got their eyes on him. He’s the one who stands to gain the most. And what about all that business with Uncle Phin? It stood out a mile that there was something up between the pair of them. Why was Ray so anxious to squash the idea that Uncle Phin could have had anything to do with it? For he was: no getting away from that! What did Uncle Phin come up here for today? I’ll bet it wasn’t just to inquire after you! No: he and Ray have got some kind of an understanding.”
She broke in on this to say in a desperate tone: “What can Phineas Ottery possibly have had to gain through your father’s death? They scarcely ever met! It’s the most absurd, the most far-fetched-’
“Well, what did he want with Father yesterday, Mother? And why did Ray say he hadn’t seen him, when he had?”
“I don’t know — I can’t imagine! There’s probably some perfectly simple explanation!”
“Of course, I quite see that it’ll be a shocking affair, if it does turn out to be Ray, but, after all, Mother, it’ll be just as bad if it was Aubrey, or Bart.”
“Aubrey or Bart!”
“Well, Con thinks it was Loveday, but I can’t see why it mightn’t just as well have been Bart. Apparently, Father had put a complete spoke in his wheel, and you have to bear in mind that in all probability he was afraid Father meant to cut him out of his will. Or it might have been Bart and Loveday between them. In fact—”
“Clay, I tell you I can’t bear this! How dare you talk like that? I won’t permit it! What would you feel if they spoke about you in this dreadful way?”
He gave an uneasy laugh. “As a matter of fact, Aubrey as good as told me he believed I’d done it. I know very well they all think I might have. Of course, it merely amuses me, because it’s so utterly absurd, but all the same-’
She turned so white that he was startled. “Aubrey — no, no, they wouldn’t pay any attention to him! He always says spiteful things. The police don’t think you had anything to do with it!”
“Oh, lord, no! Well, I mean to say, why should they? said Clay, with an assumption of carelessness.
The prospect he had conjured up, however, was terrible enough to keep his mother awake long into the night; and when, during the following day, it became apparent that the police were pursuing their investigations very strictly, and were fast bringing to light even circumstance which the family would have wished to bury in decent oblivion, she began to look so hag-ridden, that Charmian observed dispassionately that she would probably end up in a Home for Nervous Breakdown Cases.
It was amazing how easily the police seemed to be able to ferret out information. A chance word led them to question first this member of the household, and then that one discovered, to one’s dismay, how little had ever taken place in the family of which the servants had not had the fullest cognizance. The between-maid had heard Clay say that he would go mad if his father forced him to work in his cousin’s office; all the housemaids remembered perfectly being sent to find Mr Bart, and send him to his father’s room, and recounted with zest the rage Penhallow had been in at the time; Martha disclosed that Penhallow had, previously to that occasion, summoned Loveday Trewithian to his presence, and had also questioned her on the relationship between. Loveday and Bart. Martha, who had no love for Faith, told too of the occasion when Penhallow had rung for her to remove his weeping wife from his sight. Encouraged by Inspector Logan, she dilated upon this theme, with the result that the Inspector formed the opinion that her stories, were greatly exaggerated. As he had by that time reached an understanding of the peculiar position she had held in the house ever since the first Mrs Penhallow’s death, he had no difficulty in concluding that she was actuated largely by jealousy of haith. That Penhallow had often reduced his meek, laded wife to tears he did not doubt: he had already had evidence of the astonishing ease with which Faith shed tears. He did not exclude her from his list of possibles, but he did not consider it likely that, having borne patiently with Penhallow for twenty years, she should suddenly have taken it into her head to murder him. That she might have done it on her son’s behalf did not appear to him to be a tenable theory. The fate Penhallow had had in store for Clay did not strike Inspector Logan as being at all terrible. He could appreciate that a young gentleman might object strenuously to being removed from college (where he had obviously been wasting his time), but he set very little store by the various accounts he heard of his hysterical pronouncements. Young gentlemen of Clay’s type were much given, in the Inspector’s experience, to talking a lot of wild nonsense, and behaving as though the end of the world had come when they had to do things they didn’t fancy doing. To be articled to his own cousin, well
