other, they had told him – but Lady Alexandra Farraday was no saint – not by a long way. And yet some of these old saints had been funny people from his point of view, not kindly ordinary decent Christian folk, but intolerant, fanatical, cruel to themselves and others.
Stephen Farraday stood close by his wife. His face expressed no emotion whatever. He looked correct and formal, an appointed legislator of the people. The natural man was well buried. But the natural man was there, as the Chief Inspector knew.
Lord Kidderminster was speaking, directing with a good deal of ability the trend of the interview.
'I won't disguise from you, Chief Inspector, that this is a very painful and disagreeable business for us all. This is the second time that my daughter and son-in-law have been connected with a violent death in a public place – the same restaurant and two members of the same family. Publicity of such a kind is always harmful to a man in the public eye. Publicity, of course, cannot be avoided. We all realise that, and both my daughter and Mr Faraday are anxious to give you all the help they can in the hope that the matter may be cleared up speedily and public interest in it die down.'
'Thank you, Lord Kidderminster. I much appreciate the attitude you have taken up. It certainly makes things easier for us.'
Sandra Farraday said: 'Please ask us any questions you like, Chief Inspector.'
'Thank you, Lady Alexandra.'
'Just one point, Chief Inspector,' said Lord Kidderminster. 'You have, of course, your own sources of information and I gather from my friend the Commissioner that this man Barton's death is regarded as murder rather than suicide, though on the face of it, to the outside public, suicide would seem a more likely explanation. You thought it was suicide, didn't you, Sandra, my dear?'
The Gothic figure bowed its head slightly.
Sandra said in a thoughtful voice: 'It seemed to me so obvious last night. We were there in the same restaurant and actually at the same table where poor Rosemary Barton poisoned herself last year. We have seen something of Mr Barton during the summer in the country and he has really been very odd – quite unlike himself – and we all thought that his wife's death was preying on his mind. He was very fond of her, you know, and I don't think he ever got over her death. So that the idea of suicide seemed, if not natural, at least possible – whereas I can't imagine why anyone should want to murder George Barton.'
Stephen Farraday said quickly: 'No more can I. Barton was an excellent fellow. I'm sure he hadn't got an enemy in the world.'
Chief Inspector Kemp looked at the three inquiring faces turned towards him and reflected a moment before speaking. 'Better let 'em have it,' he thought to himself.
'What you say is quite correct, I am sure, Lady Alexandra. But you see there are a few things that you probably don't know yet.'
Lord Kidderminster interposed quickly: 'We mustn't force the Chief Inspector's hand. It is entirely in his discretion what facts he makes public.'
'Thanks, m'lord, but there's no reason I shouldn't explain things a little more clearly. I'll boil it down to this. George Barton, before his death, expressed to two people his belief that his wife had not, as was believed, committed suicide, but had instead been poisoned by some third party. He also thought that he was on the track of that third party, and the dinner and celebration last night, ostensibly in honour of Miss Marle's birthday, was really some part of a plan he had made for finding out the identity of his wife's murderer.'
There was a moment's silence – and in that silence Chief Inspector Kemp, who was a sensitive man in spite of his wooden appearance, felt the presence of something that he classified as dismay. It was not apparent on any face, but he could have sworn that it was there.
Lord Kidderminster was the first to recover himself. He said:
'But surely – that belief in itself might point to the fact that poor Barton was not quite – er – himself? Brooding over his wife's death might have slightly unhinged him mentally.'
'Quite so, Lord Kidderminster, but it at least shows that his frame of mind was definitely not suicidal.'
'Yes – yes, I take your point.'
And again there was silence. Then Stephen Farraday said sharply:
'But how did Barton get such an idea into his head? After all, Mrs Barton did commit suicide.'
Chief Inspector Kemp transferred a placid gaze to him.
'Mr Barton didn't think so.'
Lord Kidderminster interposed.
'But the police were satisfied? There was no suggestion of anything but suicide at the time?'
Chief Inspector Kemp said quietly: 'The facts were compatible with suicide. There was no evidence that her death was due to any other agency.'
He knew that a man of Lord Kidderminster's calibre would seize on the exact meaning of that.
Becoming slightly more official, Kemp said, 'I would like to ask you some questions now, if I may, Lady Alexandra?'
'Certainly.' She turned her head slightly towards him.
'You had no suspicions at the time of Mr Barton's death that it might be murder, not suicide?'
'Certainly not. I was quite sure it was suicide.' She added, 'I still am.'
Kemp let that pass. He said: 'Have you received any anonymous letters in the past year, Lady Alexandra?'
The calm of her manner seemed broken by pure astonishment.
'Anonymous letters? Oh, no.'
'You're quite sure? Such letters are very unpleasant things and people usually prefer to ignore them, but they may be particularly important in this case, and that is why I want to stress that if you did receive any such letters it is most essential that I should know about them.'
'I see. But I can only assure you, Chief Inspector, that I have received nothing of the kind.'
'Very well. Now you say Mr Barton's manner has been odd this summer. In what way?'
She considered a minute.
'Well, he was jumpy, nervous. It seemed difficult for him to focus his attention on what was said to him.' She turned her head towards her husband. 'Was that how it struck you, Stephen?'
'Yes, I should say that was a very fair description. The man looked physically ill, too. He had lost weight.'
'Did you notice any difference in his attitude towards you and your husband? Any less cordiality, for instance?'
'No. On the contrary. He had bought a house, you know, quite close to us, and he seemed very grateful for what we were able to do for him – in the way of local introductions, I mean, and all that. Of course we were only too pleased to do everything we could in that line, both for him and for Iris Marle who is a charming girl.'
'Was the late Mrs Barton a great friend of yours, Lady Alexandra?'
'No, we were not very intimate.' She gave a light laugh. 'She was really mostly Stephen's friend. She became interested in politics and he helped to – well educate her politically – which I'm sure he enjoyed. She was a very charming and attractive woman, you know.'
'And you're a very clever one,' thought Chief Inspector Kemp to himself appreciatively. 'I wonder how much you know about those two – a good deal, I shouldn't wonder.'
He went on: 'Mr Barton never expressed to you the view that his wife did not commit suicide?'
'No, indeed. That was why I was so startled just now.'
'And Miss Marle? She never talked about her sister's death, either?'
'No.'
'Have you any idea what made George Barton buy a house in the country? Did you or your husband suggest the idea to him?'
'No. It was quite a surprise.'
'And his manner to you was always friendly?'
'Very friendly indeed.'
'And what do you know about Mr Anthony Browne, Lady Alexandra?'
'I really know nothing at all. I have met him occasionally and that is all.'
