His sister who kept house for him, brought up his breakfast on a tray and explained to him severely how wrong he had been to go gadding off to the North of England at his age and in his frail state of health.
Mr Entwhistle contented himself with saying that Richard Abernethie had been a very old friend.
'Funerals!' said his sister with deep disapproval. 'Funerals are absolutely fatal for a man of your age! You'll be taken off as suddenly as your precious Mr Abernethie was if you don't take more care of yourself.'
The word 'suddenly' made Mr Entwhistle wince. It also silenced him. He did not argue.
He was well aware of what had made him flinch at the word suddenly.
Cora Lansquenet! What she had suggested was definitely quite impossible, but all the same he would like to find out exactly why she had suggested it. Yes, he would go down to Lytchett St Mary and see her. He could pretend that it was business connected with probate, that he needed her signature. No need to let her guess that he had paid any attention to her silly remark. But he would go down and see her – and he would do it soon.
He finished his breakfast and lay back on his pillows and read The Times. He found The Times very soothing.
It was about a quarter to six that evening when his telephone rang.
He picked it up. The voice at the other end of the wire was that of Mr James Parrott, the present second partner of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard.
'Look here, Entwhistle,' said Mr Parrott, 'I've just been rung up by the police from a place called Lytchett St Mary.'
' Lytchett St Mary?'
'Yes. It seems -' Mr Parrott paused a moment. He seemed embarrassed. 'It's about a Mrs Cora Lansquenet. Wasn't she one of the heirs of the Abernethie estate?'
'Yes, of course. I saw her at the funeral yesterday.'
'Oh? She was at the funeral, was she?'
'Yes. What about her?'
'Well,' Mr Parrott sounded apologetic. 'She's – it's really most extraordinary – she's been well – murdered.'
Mr Parrott said the last word with the uttermost deprecation. It was not the sort of word, he suggested, that ought to mean anything to the firm of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard.
'Murdered?'
'Yes – yes – I'm afraid so. Well, I mean, there's no doubt about it.'
'How did the police get on to us?'
'Her companion, or housekeeper, or whatever she is – a Miss Gilchrist. The police asked for the name of her nearest relative or of her solicitors. And this Miss Gilchrist seemed rather doubtful about relatives and their addresses, but she knew about us. So they got through at once.'
'What makes them think she was murdered?' demanded Mr Entwhistle.
Mr Parrott sounded apologetic again.
'Oh well, it seems there can't be any doubt about that – I mean it was a hatchet or something of that kind – a very violent sort of crime.'
'Robbery?'
'That's the idea. A window was smashed and there are some trinkets missing and drawers pulled out and all that, but the police seem to think there might be something – well – phony about it.'
'What time did it happen?'
'Sometime between two and four-thirty this afternoon.'
'Where was the housekeeper?'
'Changing library books in Reading. She got back about five o'clock and found Mrs Lansquenet dead. The police want to know if we've any idea of who could have been likely to attack her. I said,' Mr Parrott's voice sounded outraged, 'that I thought it was a most unlikely thing to happen.'
'Yes, of course.'
'It must be some half-witted local oaf – who thought there might be something to steal and then lost his head and attacked her. That must be it – eh, don't you think so, Entwhistle?'
'Yes, yes…' Mr Entwhistle spoke absentmindedly.
Parrott was right, he told himself. That was what must have happened…
But uncomfortably he heard Cora's voice saying brightly:
'He was murderd, wasn't he?'
Such a fool, Cora. Always had been. Rushing in where angels fear to tread… Blurting out unpleasnt truths…
Truths!
That blasted word again…
II
Mr Entwhistle and Inspector Morton looked at each other appraisingly.
In his neat precise manner Mr Entwhistle had placed at the Inspector's disposal all the relevant facts about Cora Lansquenet. Her upbringing, her marriage, her widowhood, her financial position, her relatives.
'Mr Timothy Abernethie is her only surviving brother and her next of kin, but he is a recluse and an invalid, and is quite unable to leave home. He has empowered me to act for him and to make all such arrangements as may be ncecessary.'
The Inspector nodded. It was a relief for him to have this shrewd elderly solicitor to deal with. Moreover he hoped that the lawyer might be able to give him some assistance in solving what was beginning to look like a rather puzzling problem.
He said:
'I understand from Miss Gilchrist that Mrs Lansquenet had been North, to the funeral of an elder brother, on the day before her death?'
'That is so, Inspector. I myself was there.'
'There was nothing unusual in her manner – nothing strange – or apprehensive?'
Mr Entwhistle raised his eyebrows in well-simulated surprise.
'Is it customary for there to be something strange in the manner of a person who is shortly to be murdered?' he asked.
The Inspector smiled rather ruefully.
'I'm not thinking of her being 'fey' or having a premonition. No, I'm just hunting around for – something, well, something out of the ordinary.'
'I don't think I quite understand you, Inspector,' said Mr Entwhistle.
'It's not a very easy case to understand, Mr Entwhistle. Say someone watched the Gilchrist woman come out of the house at about two o'clock and go along to the village and the bus stop. This someone then deliberately takes the hatchet that was lying by the woodshed, smashes the kitchen window with it, gets into the house, goes upstairs, attacks Mrs Lansquenet with the hatchet – and attacks her savagely. Six or eight blows were struck.' Mr Entwhistle flinched – 'Oh, yes, quite a brutal crime. Then the intruder pulls out a few drawers, scoops up a few trinkets – worth perhaps a tenner in all, and clears off.'
'She was in bed?'
'Yes. It seems she returned late from the North the night before, exhausted and very excited. She'd come into some legacy as I understand?'
'Yes.'
'She slept very badly and woke with a terrible headache. She had several cups of tea and took some dope for her head and then told Miss Gilchrist not to disturb her till lunch-time. She felt no better and decided to take two sleeping pills. She then sent Miss Gilchrist into Reading by the bus to change some library books. She'd have been drowsy, if not already asleep, when this man broke in. He could have taken what he wanted by means of threats, or he could easily have gagged her. A hatchet, deliberatly taken up with him from outside seems excessive.'
