After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [35]
Lanscombe was silent for a moment, then he said in a colourless voice:
“Is there anything—wrong, sir?”
Mr. Entwhistle replied truthfully.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I hope not. I would like to make sure. Have you felt yourself that something was—wrong?”
“Only since the funeral, sir. And I couldn’t say exactly what it is. But Mrs. Leo and Mrs. Timothy, too, they didn’t seem quite themselves that evening after the others had gone.”
“You know the contents of the will?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Leo thought I would like to know. It seemed to me, if I may permit myself to comment, a very fair will.”
“Yes, it was a fair will. Equal benefits. But it is not, I think, the will that Mr. Abernethie originally intended to make after his son died. Will you answer now the question that I asked you just now?”
“As a matter of personal opinion—”
“Yes, yes, that is understood.”
“The master, sir, was very much disappointed after Mr. George had been here… He had hoped, I think, that Mr. George might resemble Mr. Mortimer. Mr. George, if I may say so, did not come up to standard. Miss Laura’s husband was always considered unsatisfactory, and I’m afraid Mr. George took after him.” Lanscombe paused and then went on, “Then the young ladies came with their husbands. Miss Susan he took to at once—a very spirited and handsome young lady, but it’s my opinion he couldn’t abide her husband. Young ladies make funny choices nowadays, sir.”
“And the other couple?”
“I couldn’t say much about that. A very pleasant and good-looking young pair. I think the master enjoyed having them here—but I don’t think—” The old man hesitated.
“Yes, Lanscombe?”
“Well, the master had never been much struck with the stage. He said to me one day, ‘I can’t understand why anyone gets stage-struck. It’s a foolish kind of life. Seems to deprive people of what little sense they have. I don’t know what it does to your moral sense. You certainly lose your sense of proportion.’ Of course he wasn’t referring directly—”
“No, no, I quite understand. Now after these visits, Mr. Abernethie himself went away—first to his brother, and afterwards to his sister Mrs. Lansquenet.”
“That I did not know, sir. I mean he mentioned to me that he was going to Mr. Timothy and afterwards to Something St. Mary.”
“That is right. Can you remember anything he said on his return in regard to those visits?”
Lanscombe reflected.
“I really don’t know—nothing direct. He was glad to be back. Travelling and staying in strange houses tired him very much—that I do remember his saying.”
“Nothing else? Nothing about either of them?”
Lanscombe frowned.
“The master used to—well, to murmur, if you get my meaning—speaking to me and yet more to himself—hardly noticing I was there—because he knew me so well.”
“Knew you and trusted you, yes.”
“But my recollection is very vague as to what he said—something about he couldn’t think what he’d done with his money—that was Mr. Timothy, I take it. And then he said something about, ‘Women can be fools in ninety-nine different ways but be pretty shrewd in the hundredth.’ Oh yes, and he said, ‘You can only say what you really think to someone of your own generation. They don’t think you’re fancying things as the younger ones do.’ And later he said—but I don’t know in what connection—‘It’s not very nice to have to set traps for people, but I don’t see what else I can do.’ But I think it possible, sir, that he may have been thinking of the second gardener—a question of the peaches being taken.”
But Mr. Entwhistle did not think that it was the second gardener who had been in Richard Abernethie’s mind. After a few more questions he let Lanscombe go and reflected on what he had learned. Nothing, really—nothing, that is, that he had not deduced before. Yet there were