‘Interesting that you should think so. What I wondered was whether you’d have any objection to my having a word with the mother. I don’t want to interfere, of course.’
‘Only too glad, sir. She’s quite co-operative and seems to be getting over the shock all right, but, unless you can get more help from her than we’ve been able to do, I doubt whether you’ll feel justified in spending your time on her. There’s only one thing, sir. This kind of crime is apt to be one of a series, so I hope we catch the joker good and quick!’
‘One of a series?’
‘The complete absence of motive worries me, sir.’
(8)
Mrs Schumann was a fair-skinned, well-scrubbed woman of about forty-five to fifty. To make Gavin’s questioning appear to be less formal than it actually was, Dame Beatrice invited her to lunch at the Stone House, a bidding which she accepted with pathetic and touching gratitude.
‘So kind, so kind,’ she said. Dame Beatrice introduced Gavin first as Laura’s husband, and then, in fairness, informed the visitor of his position at Scotland Yard, but added that he was not directly concerned with the local police investigation.
Mrs Schumann appeared apprehensive at first, but Gavin’s charm and good looks soon overcame her suspicions, and the talk, during lunch, was on various subjects of general interest. After lunch, however, Mrs Schumann herself introduced the subject which Gavin had been wondering how to approach. She asked Dame Beatrice whether it would be necessary for her to attend the resumed inquest.
Dame Beatrice passed the question across to Gavin who replied that he thought it probable that she would be wanted as a witness.
‘So I shall be required to answer questions?’
‘Not difficult questions,’ he assured her.
‘Such as? … You see, I am anxious with the police, even after all these many years of safety. We had to leave Germany soon after the Nazis began to gain power.’
‘But you’re not Jewish, are you?’
‘Oh, no, but my husband was a man of liberal views, a scholar, a pastor, and one of the first, I think, to realise what was coming. So, while it was possible, we left our country. My husband died five years ago. I am glad he did not live long enough to know what has happened to my Karen.’
There was silence for some moments. Dame Beatrice thought it kinder to her guest not to allow it to go on too long.
‘You were wondering what kind of questions would be asked you at the resumed inquest,’ she said. ‘Well, one of the things they may want to know is whether your daughter had any men friends apart from her fiancé.’
‘Karen was a good girl, a very good girl. She made friends, men and women friends, at the University, of course, but they are scattered now. She wrote to some of them, I believe, but since she has become engaged to Edward she has not any men friends. It was not at the University that she met him. He is of a serious mind and would not care for her friends, perhaps. Students – well, you know of them, some serious, some lighthearted, but all without much money.’
‘And has her fiancé much money?’ asked Gavin.
‘Oh, no, nothing but his salary from the school where he and Karen were teachers. Karen taught German and French, Edward teaches history and something he calls R.K.’
‘Religious Knowledge,’ said Laura. ‘They used to call it Scripture in my young days; Divinity, if you wanted to sound up-stage.’
‘I see. He taught this R.K., he said, from the historical point of view, but, as I did not know what it was, this meant nothing to me. Well, Karen came down from the University and took this teaching post, and Edward was one of the senior masters. Soon, between him and Karen, there was an understanding which turned into an engagement, but Edward did not wish to marry until they had saved money for a house. My husband, you see, brought very little out of Germany, and also left us almost nothing when he died.’
‘You say that – er – Edward—’
‘Mr James.’
‘That Mr James was one of the senior masters,’ said Gavin. ‘Does that mean he was older than your daughter?’
‘Oh, yes. It gave me a little anxiety, that. He was the same age, almost, as myself. Karen was only twenty-three when they became engaged, and I asked myself what would happen when Karen was forty-three and Edward sixty-three, and so on.’
‘Twenty years is not a serious difference in age, if the parties are compatible,’ observed Dame Beatrice.
‘You think that? You may be right. But what I asked myself is how to find this compatibility. Karen was fun-loving, fond of dogs, liking to dance and go to parties. Edward is serious, learned, does not wish to love dogs, does not like to dance, thinks parties a great waste of time and money. He is ambitious. Karen had no ambition, either for him or for herself. I was anxious about them.’
‘Yes,’ said Gavin, ‘but, after all, there must have been something. I mean, what do you think attracted your daughter to him in the first place?’
‘He is interested in the things her father was interested in. Karen loved her father very dearly. His every wish was her law, always, always.’
‘You think, then, that she substituted Mr James for her father?’ asked Dame Beatrice. ‘It is likely enough. I have met such situations many times in the course of my work. But, if she found satisfaction in this substitution, I do not see why you were anxious.’
‘I felt she was not awakened, my little Karen. I thought that, some day, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, she would realise that a father-figure is not a lover-figure. You understand me?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘And you agree?’
‘With some reservations, yes, I do, especially when, as in this case, there is some conflict in tastes and outlook. Did you ever speak of these things to your daughter? Did you talk matters over with her and
