Crooked House - Agatha Christie [59]
He stretched out his hands.
“And what’s your present explanation?”
“The personal element. Personal idiosyncrasy. Laurence Brown’s idiosyncrasy. He doesn’t like violence—he can’t force himself to do physical violence. He literally couldn’t have stood behind the door and socked the kid on the head. He could rig up a booby trap and go away and not see it happen.”
“Yes, I see,” I said slowly. “It’s the eserine in the insulin bottle all over again?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think he did that without Brenda’s knowing?”
“It would explain why she didn’t throw away the insulin bottle. Of course, they may have fixed it up between them—or she may have thought up the poison trick all by herself—a nice easy death for her tired old husband and all for the best in the best possible worlds! But I bet she didn’t fix the booby trap. Women never have any faith in mechanical things working properly. And they are right. I think myself the eserine was her idea, but that she made her besotted slave do the switch. She’s the kind that usually manages to avoid doing anything equivocal themselves. Then they keep a nice happy conscience.”
He paused, then went on:
“With these letters I think the DPP will say we have a case. They’ll take a bit of explaining away! Then, if the kid gets through all right everything in the garden will be lovely.” He gave me a sideways glance. “How does it feel to be engaged to about a million pounds sterling?”
I winced. In the excitement of the last few hours, I had forgotten the developments about the will.
“Sophia doesn’t know yet,” I said. “Do you want me to tell her?”
“I understand Gaitskill is going to break the sad (or glad) news after the inquest tomorrow.” Taverner paused and looked at me thoughtfully.
“I wonder,” he said, “what the reactions will be from the family?”
Twenty
The inquest went off much as I had prophesied. It was adjourned at the request of the police.
We were in good spirits, for news had come through the night before from the hospital that Josephine’s injuries were much less serious than had been feared and that her recovery would be rapid. For the moment, Dr. Gray said, she was to be allowed no visitors—not even her mother.
“Particularly not her mother,” Sophia murmured to me. “I made that quite clear to Dr. Gray. Anyway, he knows mother.”
I must have looked rather doubtful, for Sophia said sharply:
“Why the disapproving look?”
“Well—surely a mother—”
“I’m glad you’ve got a few nice old-fashioned ideas, Charles. But you don’t quite know what my mother is capable of yet. The darling can’t help it, but there would simply have to be a grand dramatic scene. And dramatic scenes aren’t the best things for anyone recovering from head injuries.”
“You do think of everything, don’t you, my sweet.”
“Well, somebody’s got to do the thinking now that grandfather’s gone.”
I looked at her speculatively. I saw that old Leonides’ acumen had not deserted him. The mantle of his responsibilities was already on Sophia’s shoulders.
After the inquest, Gaitskill accompanied us back to Three Gables. He cleared his throat and said pontifically:
“There is an announcement it is my duty to make to you all.”
For this purpose the family assembled in Magda’s drawing room. I had on this occasion the rather pleasurable sensations of the man behind the scenes. I knew in advance what Gaitskill had to say.
I prepared myself to observe the reactions of everyone.
Gaitskill was brief and dry. Any signs of personal feeling