Crooked House - Agatha Christie [52]
I wanted to help her. I badly wanted to help her. But there was nothing much I could say or do. And I had at the bottom of my mind an embarrassed guilty feeling, as though Sophia’s scornful eyes were watching me. I remembered Sophia’s voice saying: “So she got you.”
And Sophia did not see, did not want to see, Brenda’s side of it. Alone, suspected of murder, with no one to stand by her.
“The inquest is tomorrow,” Brenda said. “What—what will happen?”
There I could reassure her.
“Nothing,” I said. “You needn’t worry about that. It will be adjourned for the police to make inquiries. It will probably set the Press loose, though. So far, there’s been no indication in the papers that it wasn’t a natural death. The Leonides have got a good deal of influence. But with an adjourned inquest—well, the fun will start.”
(What extraordinary things one said! The fun! Why must I choose that particular word?)
“Will—will they be very dreadful?”
“I shouldn’t give any interviews if I were you. You know, Brenda, you ought to have a lawyer—” She recoiled with a terrific gasp of dismay. “No—no—not the way you mean. But someone to look after your interests and advise you as to procedure, and what to say and do, and what not to say and do.
“You see,” I added, “you’re very much alone.”
Her hand pressed my arm more closely.
“Yes,” she said. “You do understand that. You’ve helped, Charles, you have helped….”
I went down the stairs with a feeling of warmth, of satisfaction … Then I saw Sophia standing by the front door. Her voice was cold and rather dry.
“What a long time you’ve been,” she said. “They rang up for you from London. Your father wants you.”
“At the Yard?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what they want me for. They didn’t say?”
Sophia shook her head. Her eyes were anxious. I drew her to me.
“Don’t worry, darling,” I said, “I’ll soon be back.”
Seventeen
There was something strained in the atmosphere of my father’s room. The Old Man sat behind his table, Chief-Inspector Taverner leaned against the window frame. In the visitors’ chair sat Mr. Gaitskill, looking ruffled.
“—extraordinary want of confidence,” he was saying acidly.
“Of course, of course.” My father spoke soothingly. “Ah, hallo, Charles, you’ve made good time. Rather a surprising development has occurred.”
“Unprecedented,” Mr. Gaitskill said.
Something had clearly ruffled the little lawyer to the core. Behind him, Chief-Inspector Taverner grinned at me.
“If I may recapitulate?” my father said. “Mr. Gaitskill received a somewhat surprising communication this morning, Charles. It was from a Mr. Agrodopolous, proprietor of the Delphos Restaurant. He is a very old man, a Greek by birth, and when he was a young man he was helped and befriended by Aristide Leonides. He has always remained deeply grateful to his friend and benefactor and it seems that Aristide Leonides placed great reliance and trust in him.”
“I would never have believed Leonides was of such a suspicious and secretive nature,” said Mr. Gaitskill. “Of course, he was of advanced years—practically in his dotage, one might say.”
“Nationality tells,” said my father gently. “You see, Gaitskill, when you are very old your mind dwells a good deal on the days of your youth and the friends of your youth.”
“But Leonides’ affairs had been in my hands for well over forty years,” said Mr. Gaitskill. “Forty-three years and six months to be precise.”
Taverner grinned again.
“What happened?” I asked.
Mr. Gaitskill opened his mouth, but my father forestalled him.
“Mr. Agrodopolous stated in his communication that he was obeying certain instructions given him by his friend Aristide Leonides. Briefly, about a year ago he had been entrusted by Mr. Leonides with a sealed envelope which Mr. Agrodopolous was to forward to Mr. Gaitskill immediately after Mr. Leonides’ death. In the event of Mr. Agrodopolous dying first, his son, a godson of Mr. Leonides, was to carry out the same instructions. Mr. Agrodopolous apologizes for the delay, but explains that he has been ill with pneumonia