We sat at opposite ends of the lengthy couch, half-turned so we could look at each other. Glynis said Mrs Stonehouse was resting comfortably. I declined a cup of coffee. I took out my notebook.
'Miss Stonehouse,' I started, 'I spoke to your brother at some length.'
'I hope he was — co-operative?'
'Oh yes. Completely. I gather there had been a great deal of, uh, enmity between Powell and his father?'
'He made my brother's life miserable,' she said. 'Powell is such a good boy. Father destroyed him!'
I was surprised by the virulence in her husky voice, and looked at her sharply.
The triangular face with cat's eyes of denim blue was expressionless, the sculpted lips firmly pressed. Her tawny hair was drawn sleekly back. A remarkably beautiful woman, with her own secrets. She made me feel like a blundering amateur; I despaired of ever penetrating that self-possession and discovering — what?
'Miss Stonehouse, can you tell me anything about Powell's ah, companion? Wanda Chard?'
'I don't know her very well. I met her only once.'
'What is your impression?'
'A very quiet woman. Deep. Withdrawn. Powell says she is very religious. Zen.'
'Your father met her two weeks before he disappeared.'
That moved her. She was astonished.
'Father did?' she said. 'Met Wanda Chard?'
'So she says. He went down to your brother's apartment. Powell wasn't at home. He stayed about ten minutes talking to Miss Chard. Your father never mentioned the visit?'
'No. Never.'
'You have no idea why he might have visited your brother — or tried to?'
'None whatsoever. It's so out of character for my father.'
'It couldn't have been an attempted reconciliation with your brother, could it?'
She pondered a moment.
'I'd like to think so,' she said slowly.
'Miss Stonehouse,' I said, 'I'd like to ask a question that I hope won't offend you. Do you believe your brother is capable of physical violence against your father?'
Those blue eyes turned to mine. It was more than a half-beat before she answered. But she never blinked.
'He might have been,' she said, no timbre in her voice.
'Before he left home. But since he's had his own place, my brother has made a marvellous adjustment. Would he have been capable of physical violence the night my father disappeared? No. Besides, he was here when my father walked out.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Do you think Wanda Chard could have been capable of physical violence?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'I just don't know. It's possible, I suppose. Perfectly normal, average people are capable of the most incredible acts.'
'Under pressure,' I agreed. 'Or passion. Or hate. Or any strong emotion that results in loss of self-control. Love, for instance.'
'Perhaps,' she said.
Noncommittal.
'Miss Stonehouse,' I said, sighing, 'is Mrs Dark at home?'
'Why, yes. She's in the kitchen.'
A definite answer. What a relief.
'May I speak to her for a moment?'
'Of course. You know the way, don't you?'
When I entered the kitchen, Effie was seated at the centre table, smoking a cigarette and leafing through the morning Daily News. She looked up as I came in, and her
bright little eyes crinkled up with pleasure.
'Why, Mr Bigg,' she said, her loose dentures clacking away. 'This is nice.'
'Good to see you again, Effie. How have you been?'
'Oh, I've got no complaints,' she said cheerily. 'What are you doing out on such a nasty morning? Here. . sit down.'
'Thank you,' I said. 'Well, Effie, I wanted to ask you a few more questions. Silly things that probably have nothing to do with the Professor's disappearance. But I've got to ask them just to satisfy my own curiosity.'
'Sure,' she said, shrugging her fat shoulders. 'I can understand that. I'm as curious as the next one. Curiouser.'
'Effie, what time of night do you usually go to bed?'
'Well, I usually go to my room about nine-thirty, ten.
Around then. After I've cleaned up here. Then I read a little, maybe watch a little television. Write a letter or two.
I'm usually in bed by eleven.'
I laughed. 'Lucky woman. Do you leave anything here in the kitchen for the family? In case they want a late snack?'
'Oh, they can help themselves,' she said casually. 'They know where everything is.' Then, when I was wondering how to lead into it, she added: 'Of course, when the Professor was here, I always left him a saucepan of cocoa.'
'Cocoa?' I said. 'I didn't think people drank cocoa anymore.'
'Of course they do. It's delicious.'
'And you served the Professor a cup of cocoa before you went to bed?'
'Oh no. I just made it. Then I left it to cool. Around midnight, Miss Glynis would come in and just heat it up.
Even if she was out at the theatre or wherever, she'd come home, heat up the cocoa, and bring a cup to her father in his study.'
'So I understand. Glynis brought the Professor his cup 201
of cocoa every night?'
'That's right.'
'And no one else in the house drank it?'
'No one,' she said, and my heart leaped — until she said,
'except me. I finished it in the morning.'
'Finished it?'
'What was left in the pan. I like a cup of hot cocoa before I start breakfast.'
That seemed to demolish the Great Cocoa Plot. But did it?
'Effie, who washed out the Professor's cocoa cup in the morning?'
'I did. He always left it on the kitchen sink.'
'Why on earth did he drink cocoa so late at night?'
'He claimed it helped him sleep better.' She snickered.
'Just between you, me, and the lamppost, I suspect it was the brandy he had along with it.'
'Uh-huh,' I said. 'Well, Effie, I think that covers it.
There's just one other favour I'd like to ask. I want to take another look in the Professor's study.'
'Help yourself,' she said. 'The door's unlocked.'
'I don't want to go in alone.'
'Oh?' She looked at me shrewdly. 'So you'll have a witness that you didn't take anything?'
'Right,' I said gratefully.
The study looked exactly as it had before. I stood near the centre of the room, my eyes half-closed. I turned slowly, inspecting.
The drum table. Brandy bottle and two small balloon glasses on an Edwardian silvery tray. The Remy Martin bottle was new, sealed.
Where did he hide the will? Not up the chimney. Not in the littered desk. Not behind a secret panel. Ula and
