After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [41]
“That’s it over there, I expect,” said Susan, gesturing to the wall behind him.
Mr. Guthrie got up, put on a pair of spectacles, and went over to study the picture.
“Poor dear Cora,” he said at last.
“There are a lot more,” said Susan.
Mr. Guthrie proceeded to a leisurely inspection of the art treasures acquired by the hopeful Mrs. Lansquenet. Occasionally he said, “Tchk, Tchk,” occasionally he sighed.
Finally he removed his spectacles.
“Dirt,” he said, “is a wonderful thing, Mrs. Banks! It gives a patina of romance to the most horrible examples of the painter’s art. I’m afraid that Bartolozzi was beginner’s luck. Poor Cora. Still, it gave her an interest in life. I am really thankful that I did not have to disillusion her.”
“There are some pictures in the dining room,” said Susan, “but I think they are all her husband’s work.”
Mr. Guthrie shuddered slightly and held up a protesting hand.
“Do not force me to look at those again. Life classes have much to answer for! I always tried to spare Cora’s feelings. A devoted wife—a very devoted wife. Well, dear Mrs. Banks, I must not take up more of your time.”
“Oh, do stay and have some tea. I think it’s nearly ready.”
“That is very kind of you.” Mr. Guthrie sat down again promptly.
“I’ll just go and see.”
In the kitchen, Miss Gilchrist was just lifting a last batch of scones from the oven. The tea tray stood ready and the kettle was just gently rattling its lid.
“There’s a Mr. Guthrie here, and I’ve asked him to stay for tea.”
“Mr. Guthrie? Oh, yes, he was a great friend of dear Mrs. Lansquenet’s. He’s the celebrated art critic. How fortunate; I’ve made a nice lot of scones and that’s some homemade strawberry jam, and I just whipped up some little drop cakes. I’ll just make the tea—I’ve warmed the pot. Oh, please, Mrs. Banks, don’t carry that heavy tray. I can manage everything.”
However, Susan took in the tray and Miss Gilchrist followed with teapot and kettle, greeted Mr. Guthrie, and they set to.
“Hot scones, that is a treat,” said Mr. Guthrie, “and what delicious jam! Really, the stuff one buys nowadays.”
Miss Gilchrist was flushed and delighted. The little cakes were excellent and so were the scones, and everyone did justice to them. The ghost of the Willow Tree hung over the party. Here, it was clear, Miss Gilchrist was in her element.
“Well, thank you, perhaps I will,” said Mr. Guthrie as he accepted the last cake, pressed upon him by Miss Gilchrist. “I do feel rather guilty, though—enjoying my tea here, where poor Cora was so brutally murdered.”
Miss Gilchrist displayed an unexpected Victorian reaction to this.
“Oh, but Mrs. Lansquenet would have wished you to take a good tea. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps you are right. The fact is, you know, that one cannot really bring oneself to believe that someone you knew—actually knew—can have been murdered!”
“I agree,” said Susan. “It just seems—fantastic.”
“And certainly not by some casual tramp who broke in and attacked her. I can imagine, you know, reasons why Cora might have been murdered—”
Susan said quickly, “Can you? What reasons?”
“Well, she wasn’t discreet,” said Mr. Guthrie. “Cora was never discreet. And she enjoyed—how shall I put it—showing how sharp she could be? Like a child who’s got hold of somebody’s secret. If Cora got hold of a secret she’d want to talk about it. Even if she promised not to, she’d still do it. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.”
Susan did not speak. Miss Gilchrist did not either. She looked worried. Mr. Guthrie went on:
“Yes, a little dose of arsenic in a cup of tea—that would not have surprised me, or a box of chocolates by post. But sordid robbery and assault—that seems highly incongruous. I may be wrong but I should have thought she had very little to take that would be worth a burglar’s while. She didn’t keep much money in the house, did she?”
Miss Gilchrist said, “Very little.”
Mr. Guthrie sighed and rose to his feet.
“Ah! well, there’s a lot of lawlessness about since