“Angela, you surprise me. What particular form of lie did you blacken your soul with this time?”
“Oh, I didn’t exactly say anything. But I somehow allowed her to get the impression that it was I who did the column. After all, Mr. Soames is a friend of yours, so it wasn’t so very far from the truth. Miles, she rose to the bait like anything.”
“Heaven forgive you! Well, go on.”
“It was all to save you twenty quid, after all. Up till then, she’d been saying all the ordinary things—she’d got a sister in London, whom she goes and stays with; and she finds Chilthorpe rather slow, hardly ever going to the pictures and that; and she’d like to get up to London herself—it’s what they all say. But when I let on that I was Aunt Daphne of ‘Cupid’s Labyrinth,’ she spread herself. How would I advise a friend of hers to act who found herself in a very delicate situation? So I told her to cough it up. The friend, it seemed, had been walking out with a young man who was quite decently off; that is, he had quite enough to marry on. But one day he explained to her that he had expectations of becoming really very rich; if only a relation of his would die, he would then come into a property far above his own station, let alone hers.”
“The situation sounds arresting in more ways than one.”
“Don’t interrupt. Well, the man suggested they should get engaged, and they did, only on the quiet. And then, a few weeks ago, or it might have been a fortnight ago, this man suddenly informed her friend that all his dreams of wealth had suddenly collapsed. The rich relation had made a new will in which he made no provision for his family. And he, the young man, was very nice about it; and said of course he’d asked her to marry him at a time when he thought he could make her a rich woman; and now he couldn’t. So if she wanted to back out of the engagement now, he would give her complete liberty.”
“Sportsman.”
“Her friend indignantly said ‘No’; she wouldn’t dream of backing out. She wanted to marry him for himself, not for his money, and all that. So they are continuing to regard the engagement as a fixture. But her difficulty, I mean the friend’s difficulty, is this: was it just a sort of melodramatic instinct which made her say that the money meant nothing to her? Was it just her pride which made her think she was still in love with the man, now that he was no longer an heir? Or was she really still in love with him? That was the problem, and I had to set to and answer it.”
“And what was your answer?”
“Oh, that’s hardly important, is it? Of course, I put on my best Aunt Daphne manner, and tried to think of the sort of tripe Soames would have written. It wasn’t difficult, really. I said that if the man was quite comfortably off as it was, it was probably far better for them both that they shouldn’t become enormously rich; and I laid it on thick about the deceitfulness of riches, though I wish I’d more experience of it, don’t you? And I said if they were already walking out before the man mentioned anything about the legacy, that proved that her friend was already in love with him, or half in love with him, before the question of money cropped up at all. And I told her I thought her friend would be very happy with the man, probably all the happier because he knew that she wasn’t mercenary in her ambitions, and all that sort of thing—I felt rather a beast doing it. She was very grateful, and it didn’t seem to occur to her for a moment that she was giving herself away, horse, foot and guns. She can’t have known, obviously, that you and Leyland were rubbering in the lane last night. And so there it is.”
“And confoundedly important at that. Angela, you are a trump! We’ve got Leyland down, both ears touching. He himself said that his theory about Simmonds would break down if it could be proved that Simmonds did know about the codicil, did know that he’d been cut out of the will. And it can be proved; we can prove it! It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it, that all this should have happened a fortnight ago or thereabouts? Obviously, it was hearing about the codicil which made Simmonds offer to free ‘Raight-ho’ from her engagement, and jolly sporting of him, I consider.”
“Candour compels me to admit that I’ve been rather efficient. But, Miles dear, the thing doesn’t make sense yet. We know now that Simmonds wasn’t expecting anything from his uncle’s will, and therefore had no motive for murdering him, unless it was mere spite. Then, why has Simmonds got the wind up so badly? You aren’t as frightening as all that.”
“Yes; it still looks as if Simmonds had got something on his mind. And we know that Brinkman’s got something on his mind. Perhaps Brinkman will react on this morning’s conversation and let us know a little more about it.”
Almost as he spoke, Brinkman came out from the door of the inn. He came straight up to Bredon as if he had been looking for him, and said, “Oh, Mr. Bredon, I was wondering if you would care to come for a bit of a walk.
