By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [41]
‘You mean because of people who did leave the district?’
‘Well, of course it made people talk, you know. They’d say it might be so-and-so.’
Tuppence hesitated to ask the next question, but she felt that with Mrs Copleigh’s passion for talking it wouldn’t matter if she did.
‘Who did you think it was?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s that long ago I’d hardly like to say. But there was names mentioned. Talked of, you know, and looked at. Some as thought it might be Mr Boscowan.’
‘Did they?’
‘Yes, being an artist and all, artists are queer. They say that. But I didn’t think it was him!’
‘There was more as said it was Amos Perry,’ said Mr Copleigh.
‘Mrs Perry’s husband?’
‘Yes. He’s a bit queer, you know, simple-minded. He’s the sort of chap that might have done it.’
‘Were the Perrys living here then?’
‘Yes. Not at Watermead. They had a cottage about four or five miles away. Police had an eye on him, I’m sure of that.’
‘Couldn’t get anything on him, though,’ said Mrs Copleigh. ‘His wife spoke for him always. Stayed at home with her in the evenings, he did. Always, she said. Just went along sometimes to the pub on a Saturday night, but none of these murders took place on a Saturday night, so there wasn’t anything in that. Besides, Alice Perry was the kind you’d believe when she gave evidence. She’d never let up or back down. You couldn’t frighten her out of it. Anyway, he’s not the one. I never thought so. I know I’ve nothing to go on but I’ve a sort of feeling if I’d had to put my finger on anyone I’d have put it on Sir Philip.’
‘Sir Philip?’ Again Tuppence’s head reeled. Yet another character was being introduced. Sir Philip. ‘Who’s Sir Philip?’ she asked.
‘Sir Philip Starke–Lives up in the Warrender House. Used to be called the Old Priory when the Warrenders lived in it–before it burnt down. You can see the Warrender graves in the churchyard and tablets in the church, too. Always been Warrenders here practically since the time of King James.’
‘Was Sir Philip a relation of the Warrenders?’
‘No. Made his money in a big way, I believe, or his father did. Steelworks or something of that kind. Odd sort of man was Sir Philip. The works were somewhere up north, but he lived here. Kept to himself he did. What they call a rec–rec–rec-something.’
‘Recluse,’ suggested Tuppence.
‘That’s the word I’m looking for. Pale he was, you know, and thin and bony and fond of flowers. He was a botanist. Used to collect all sorts of silly little wild flowers, the kind you wouldn’t look at twice. He even wrote a book on them, I believe. Oh yes, he was clever, very clever. His wife was a nice lady, and very handsome, but sad looking, I always thought.’
Mr Copleigh uttered one of his grunts. ‘You’re daft,’ he said. ‘Thinking it might have been Sir Philip. He was fond of children, Sir Philip was. He was always giving parties for them.’
‘Yes I know. Always giving fêtes, having lovely prizes for the children. Egg and spoon races–all those strawberry and cream teas he’d give. He’d no children of his own, you see. Often he’d stop children in a lane and give them a sweet or give them a sixpence to buy sweets. But I don’t know. I think he overdid it. He was an odd man. I thought there was something wrong when his wife suddenly up and left him.’
‘When did his wife leave him?’
‘It’d be about six months after all this trouble began. Three children had been killed by then. Lady Starke went away suddenly to the south of France and she never came back. She wasn’t the kind, you’d say, to do that. She was a quiet lady, respectable. It’s not as though she left him for any other man. No, she wasn’t the kind to do that. So why did she go and leave him? I always say it’s because she knew something–found out about something–’
‘Is he still living here?’
‘Not regular, he isn’t. He comes down once or twice a year but the house is kept shut up most of the