ever – look here, Entwhistle, what are you getting at? My God, man, are you suggesting murder?'
'I don't quite know what I'm suggesting… I just want to know what would be possible.'
'But what evidence have you for even suggesting such a thing?'
'I haven't any evidence,' said Mr Entwhistle in a tired voice. 'Mr Abernethie is dead – and the person to whom he spoke is also dead. The whole thing is rumour – vague, unsatisfactory rumour, and I want to scotch it if I can. If you tell me that no one could possibly have poisoned Abernethie in any way whatsoever, I'll be delighted! It would be a big weight off my mind, I can assure you.'
Dr Larraby got up and walked up and down.
'I can't tell you what you want me to tell you,' he said at last. 'I wish I could. Of course it could have been done. Anybody could have extracted the oil from a capsule and replaced it with – say – pure nicotine or half a dozen other things. Or something could have been put in his food or drink? Isn't that more likely?'
'Possibly. But you see, there were only the servants in the house when he died – and I don't think it was any of them – in fact I'm quite sure it wasn't. So I'm looking for some delayed action possibility. There's no drug, I suppose, that you can administer and then the person dies weeks later?'
'A convenient idea – but untenable, I'm afraid,' said the doctor dryly. 'I know you're a responsible person, Entwhistle, but who is making this suggestion? It seems to me wildly far fetched.'
'Abernethie never said anything to you? Never hinted that one of his relations might be wanting him out of the way?'
The doctor looked at him curiously.
'No, he never said anything to me. Are you sure, Entwhistle, that somebody hasn't been – well, playing up the sensational? Some hysterical subjects can give an appearance of being quite reasonable and normal, you know.'
'I hope it was like that. It might well be.'
'Let me understand. Someone claims that Abernethie told her – it was a woman, I suppose?'
'Oh yes, it was a woman.'
'- told her that someone was trying to kill him?'
Cornered, Mr Entwhistle reluctantly told the tale of Cora's remark at the funeral. Dr Larraby's face lightened.
'My dear fellow. I shouldn't pay any attention! The explanation is quite simple. The woman's at a certain time of life – craving for sensation, unbalanced, unreliable – might say anything. They do, you know.'
Mr Entwhistle resented the doctor's easy assumption. He himself had had to deal with plenty of sensation- hunting and hysterical women.
'You may be quite right,' he said, rising. 'Unfortunately we can't tackle her on the subject, as she's been murdered herself.'
'What's that – murdered?' Dr Larraby looked as though he had grave suspicions of Mr Entwhistle's own stability of mind.
'You've probably read about it in the paper. Mrs Lanquenet at Lytchett St Mary in Berkshire.'
'Of course – I'd no idea she was a relation of Richard Abernethie's!' Dr Larraby was looking quite shaken.
Feeling that he had revenged himself for the doctor's professional superiority, and unhappily conscious that his own suspicions had not been assuaged as a result of the visit, Mr Entwhistle took his leave.
II
Back at Enderby, Mr Entwhistle decided to talk to Lanscombe.
He started by asking the old butler what his plans were.
'Mrs Leo has asked me to stay on here until the house is sold, sir, and I'm sure I shall be very pleased to oblige her. We are all very fond of Mrs Leo.' He sighed. 'I feel it very much, sir, if you will excuse me mentioning it, that the house has to be sold. I've known it for so very many years, and seen all the young ladies and gentlemen grow up in it. I always thought that Mr Mortimer would come after his father and perhaps bring up a family here, too. It was arranged, sir, that I should go to the North Lodge when I got past doing my work here. A very nice little place, the North Lodge – and I looked forward to having it very spick and span. But I suppose that's all over now.'
'I'm afraid so, Lanscombe. The estate will all have to be sold together. But with your legacy -'
'Oh I'm not complaining, sir, and I'm very sensible of Mr Abernethie's generosity. I'm well provided for, but it's not so easy to find a little place to buy nowadays and though my married niece has asked me to make my home with them, well, it won't be quite the same thing as living on the estate.'
'I know,' said Mr Entwhistle. 'It's a hard new world for us old fellows. I wish I'd seen more of my old friend before he went. How did he seem those last few months?'
'Well, he wasn't himself, sir. Not since Mr Mortimer's death.'
'No, it broke him up. And then he was a sick man – sick men have strange fancies sometimes. I imagine Mr Abernethie suffered from that sort of thing in his last days. He spoke of enemies sometimes, of somebody wishing to do him harm – perhaps? He may even have thought his food was being tampered with?'
Old Lanscombe looked surprised – surprised and offended.
'I cannot recall anything of that kind, sir.'
Entwhistle looked at him keenly.
'You're a very loyal servant, Lanscombe, I know that. But such fancies, on Mr Abernethie's part would be quite – er – unimportant – a natural symptom in some – er – diseases.'
'Indeed, sir? I can only say Mr Abernethie never said anything like that to me, or in my hearing.'
Mr Entwhistle slid gently to another subject.
'He had some of his family down to stay with him, didn't he, before he died. His nephew and his two nieces and their husbands?'
'Yes, sir, that is so.'
'Was he satisfied with those visits? Or was he disappointed?'
Lanscombe's eyes became remote, his old back stiffened.
'I really could not say, sir.'
'I think you could, you know,' said Mr Entwhistle gently. 'It's not your place to say anything of that kind – that's what you really mean. But there are times when one has to do violence to one's sense of what is fitting. I was one of your master's oldest friends. I cared for him very much. So did you. That's why I'm asking you for your opinion as a man, not as a butler.'
Lanscombe was silent for a moment, then he said in a colourless voice:
'Is there anything – wrong, sir?'
Mr Entwhistle replied truthfully.
'I don't know,' he said. 'I hope not. I would like to make sure. Have you yourself felt that something was – wrong?'
'Only since the funeral, sir. And I couldn't say exactly what it is. But Mrs Leo and Mrs Timothy, too, they didn't seem quite themselves that evening after the others had gone.'
'You know the contents of the will?'
'Yes, sir. Mrs Leo thought I would like to know. It seemed to me, if I may permit myself to comment, a very fair will.'
'Yes, it was a fair will. Equal benefits. But it is not, I think, the will that Mr Abernethie originally intended to make after his son died. Will you answer now the question that I asked you just now?'
'As a matter of personal opinion -'
'Yes, yes, that is understood.'
'The master, sir, was very much disappointed after Mr George had been here. He had hoped, I think, that Mr George might resemble Mr Mortimer. Mr George, if I may say so, did not come up to standard. Miss Laura's husband was always considered unsatisfactory, and I'm afraid Mr George took after him.' Lanscombe paused and then went
