4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [73]
“You’ll have to go to one of these new-fashioned psychiatrists to find that out. I’d just say that Luther has never felt very adequate as a man himself, and that he bitterly resents his financial position. He has possession of an income but no power of appointment of capital. If he had the power to disinherit his sons he probably wouldn’t dislike them as much. Being powerless in that respect gives him a feeling of humiliation.”
“That’s why he’s so pleased at the idea of outliving them all?” said Inspector Craddock.
“Possibly. It is the root, too, of his parsimony, I think. I should say that he’s managed to save a considerable sum out of his large income—mostly, of course, before taxation rose to its present giddy heights.”
A new idea struck Inspector Craddock. “I suppose he’s left his savings by will to someone? That he can do.”
“Oh, yes, though God knows who he has left it to. Maybe to Emma, but I should rather doubt it. She’ll get her share of the old man’s property. Maybe to Alexander, the grandson.”
“He’s fond of him, is he?” said Craddock.
“Used to be. Of course he was his daughter’s child, not a son’s child. That may have made a difference. And he had quite an affection for Bryan Eastley, Edie’s husband. Of course I don’t know Bryan well, it’s some years since I’ve seen any of the family. But it struck me that he was going to be very much at a loose end after the war. He’s got those qualities that you need in wartime; courage, dash, and a tendency to let the future take care of itself. But I don’t think he’s got any stability. He’ll probably turn into a drifter.”
“As far as you know there’s no peculiar kink in any of the younger generation?”
“Cedric’s an eccentric type, one of those natural rebels. I wouldn’t say he was perfectly normal, but you might say, who is? Harold’s fairly orthodox, not what I call a very pleasant character, coldhearted, eye to the main chance. Alfred’s got a touch of the delinquent about him. He’s a wrong ’un, always was. Saw him taking money out of a missionary box once that they used to keep in the hall. That type of thing. Ah, well, the poor fellow’s dead, I suppose I shouldn’t be talking against him.”
“What about…” Craddock hesitated. “Emma Crackenthorpe?”
“Nice girl, quiet, one doesn’t always know what she’s thinking. Has her own plans and her own ideas, but she keeps them to herself. She’s more character than you might think from her general appearance.”
“You knew Edmund, I suppose, the son who was killed in France?”
“Yes. He was the best of the bunch I’d say. Goodhearted, gay, a nice boy.”
“Did you ever hear that he was going to marry, or had married, a French girl just before he was killed?”
Dr. Morris frowned. “It seems as though I remember something about it,” he said, “but it’s a long time ago.”
“Quite early on in the war, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Ah, well, I dare say he’d have lived to regret it if he had married a foreign wife.”
“There’s some reason to believe that he did do just that,” said Craddock.
In a few brief sentences he gave an account of recent happenings.
“I remember seeing something in the papers about a woman found in a sarcophagus. So it was at Rutherford Hall.”
“And there’s reason to believe that the woman was Edmund Crackenthorpe’s widow.”
“Well, well, that seems extraordinary. More like a novel than real life. But who’d want to kill the poor thing—I mean, how does it tie up with arsenical poisoning in the Crackenthorpe family?”
“In one of two ways,” said Craddock; “but they are both very farfetched. Somebody perhaps is greedy and wants the whole of Josiah Crackenthorpe’s fortune.”
“Damn fool if he does,” said Dr. Morris. “He’ll only have to pay the most stupendous taxes on the income from it.”
Twenty-one
“Nasty things, mushrooms,” said Mrs. Kidder.
Mrs. Kidder had made the same remark about ten times in the last few days. Lucy did not reply.
“Never touch ’em myself,” said Mrs. Kidder, “much too dangerous. It’s a merciful Providence as there’s only been one death. The whole lot might have gone, and you,