He nodded.
'How did he feel towards your mother?'
'Tolerated her.'
'How often did you dine at your father's home? I mean after you moved out?'
'Twice a week maybe, on an average.'
'Do you know what your father's illness was? Last year when he was sick?'
'The flu, Mother said. Or a virus.'
'Do you know any of your sister's friends?'
'Not really. Not recently. She goes her own way.'
'But she goes out a lot?'
'Yes. Frequently.'
'Where?'
'To the theatre, I guess. Movies. Ballet. Ask her.'
'She's a beautiful woman. Why hasn't she married?'
'No one was ever good enough for Father.'
'She's of age. She can do as she likes.'
'Yes,' Wanda Chard said, 'I've wondered about that.'
'She wouldn't leave my mother,' Powell said. 'She's devoted to my mother.'
'But not to your father?'
He shrugged.
'Anything you can tell me about the servants?'
'What about them?'
'You trust them?'
'Of course.'
'What did you and your father quarrel about? The final quarrel?'
'He caught me smoking a joint. We both said things we shouldn't have. So I moved out.'
'You have an independent income?'
'Enough,' Wanda Chard said quickly.
'Your sister doesn't have one particular friend? A man, I mean. Someone she sees a lot of?'
'I don't know. Ask her.'
'Was your father on a special diet?'
'What?'
'Did he eat any special foods or drink anything no one else in the house ate or drank?'
'Not that I know of. Why?'
'In the last month or two before your father disappeared, did you notice any gradual change in his behaviour?'
He thought about that for a few seconds.
'Maybe he became more withdrawn.'
'Withdrawn?'
'Surlier. Meaner. He talked even less than usual. He ate his dinner, then went into his study.'
'His will iS missing. Did you know that?'
'Glynis told me. I don't care. I don't want a cent from him. Not a cent! If he left me anything. I'd give it away.'
'Why did your mother stay with such a man as you describe?'
'What could she do? Where could she go? She has no family of her own. She couldn't function alone.'
'Your mother and sister could have left together. Just as you left.'
'Why should they? It's their home, too.'
'You never saw your father's will?'
'No.'
'Did you see the book he was working on? A history of the Prince Royal, a British battleship?'
'No, I never saw that. I never went into his study.'
'Did your father drink? I mean alcohol?'
'Maybe a highball before dinner. Some wine. A brandy before he went to bed. Nothing heavy.'
'Are you on any drugs now?'
'A joint now and then. That's all. No hard stuff.'
'Your mother or sister?'
'My mother's on sherry. You probably noticed.'
'Your sister?'
'Nothing as far as I know.'
'Your father?'
'You've got to be kidding.'
'Either of the servants?'
'Ridiculous.'
'Do you love your mother?'
'I have a very deep affection for her. And pity. He ruined her life.'
'Do you love your sister?'
'Very much. She's an angel.'
Wanda Chard made a sound.
'Miss Chard,' I said, 'did you say something? I didn't catch it.'
'Nothing,' she said.
That's what I had — nothing. I continued 'catching flies.'
'Did your father ever come down here?' I asked. 'To this apartment?'
'Once,' he said. 'I wasn't here. But Wanda met him.'
'What did you think of him, Miss Chard?'
'So unhappy,' she murmured. 'So bitter. Eating himself up.'
'When did he come here? I mean, how long was it before he disappeared?'
They looked at each other.
'Perhaps two weeks,' she said. 'Maybe less.'
'He just showed up? Without calling first?'
'Yes.'
'Did he give any reason for his visit?'
'He said he wanted to talk to Powell. But Powell was in Brooklyn, studying with his master. So Professor Stonehouse left.'
'How long did he stay?'
'Not long. Ten minutes perhaps.'
'He didn't say what he wanted to talk to Powell about?'
'No.'
'And he never came back?'
'No,' Powell Stonehouse said, 'he never came back.'
'And when you saw him later, in his home, did he ever mention the visit or say what he wanted to talk to you about?'
'No, he never mentioned it. And I didn't either.'
I thought a moment.
'It couldn't have been a reconciliation, could it?'
I suggested. 'He came down here to ask your forgiveness?'
He stared at me. His face slowly congealed. The blow he had been expecting had landed.
178
'I don't know.' he said in a low voice.
'Maybe,' Wanda Chard murmured.
