Crooked House - Agatha Christie [5]
“He doesn’t sound a very attractive character,” I said.
“Funnily enough, he was attractive. He’d got personality, you know. You could feel it. Nothing much to look at. Just a gnome—ugly little fellow—but magnetic—women always fell for him.”
“He made a rather astonishing marriage,” said my father. “Married the daughter of a country squire—an MFH.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Money?”
The Old Man shook his head.
“No, it was a love match. She met him over some catering arrangements for a friend’s wedding—and she fell for him. Her parents cut up rough, but she was determined to have him. I tell you, the man had charm—there was something exotic and dynamic about him that appealed to her. She was bored stiff with her own kind.”
“And the marriage was happy?”
“It was very happy, oddly enough. Of course their respective friends didn’t mix (those were the days before money swept aside all class distinctions) but that didn’t seem to worry them. They did without friends. He built a rather preposterous house at Swinly Dean and they lived there and had eight children.”
“This is indeed a family chronicle.”
“Old Leonides was rather clever to choose Swinly Dean. It was only beginning to be fashionable then. The second and third golf courses hadn’t been made. There was a mixture of Old Inhabitants who were passionately fond of their gardens and who liked Mrs. Leonides, and rich City men who wanted to be in with Leonides, so they could take their choice of acquaintances. They were perfectly happy, I believe, until she died of pneumonia in 1905.”
“Leaving him with eight children?”
“One died in infancy. Two of the sons were killed in the last war. One daughter married and went to Australia and died there. An unmarried daughter was killed in a motor accident. Another died a year or two ago. There are two still living—the eldest son, Roger, who is married but has no children, and Philip, who married a well-known actress and has three children. Your Sophia, Eustace, and Josephine.”
“And they are all living at—what is it?—Three Gables?”
“Yes. The Roger Leonides were bombed out early in the war. Philip and his family have lived there since 1937. And there’s an elderly aunt, Miss de Haviland, sister of the first Mrs. Leonides. She always loathed her brother-in-law apparently, but when her sister died she considered it her duty to accept her brother-in-law’s invitation to live with him and bring up the children.”
“She’s very hot on duty,” said Inspector Taverner. “But she’s not the kind that changes her mind about people. She always disapproved of Leonides and his methods—”
“Well,” I said, “it seems a pretty good houseful. Who do you think killed him?”
Taverner shook his head.
“Early days,” he said, “early days to say that.”
“Come on, Taverner,” I said. “I bet you think you know who did it. We’re not in court, man.”
“No,” said Taverner gloomily. “And we may never be.”
“You mean he may not have been murdered?”
“Oh, he was murdered all right. Poisoned. But you know what these poisoning cases are like. It’s very tricky getting the evidence. Very tricky. All the possibilities may point one way—”
“That’s what I’m trying to get at. You’ve got it all taped out in your mind, haven’t you?”
“It’s a case of very strong probability. It’s one of those obvious things. The perfect setup. But I don’t know, I’m sure. It’s tricky.”
I looked appealingly at the Old Man.
He said slowly: “In murder cases, as you know, Charles, the obvious is usually the right solution. Old Leonides married again, ten years ago.”
“When he was seventy-seven?”
“Yes, he married a young woman of twenty-four.”
I whistled.
“What sort of a young woman?”
“A young woman out of a tea shop. A perfectly respectable young woman—good-looking in an anaemic, apathetic sort of way.”
“And she’s the strong probability?”
“I ask you, sir,” said Taverner. “She’s only thirty-four now—and that’s a dangerous age. She likes living soft. And there’s a young man in the