Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie [57]
‘And you’re a very clever one,’ thought Chief Inspector Kemp to himself appreciatively. ‘I wonder how much you know about those two—a good deal, I shouldn’t wonder.’
He went on:
‘Mr Barton never expressed to you the view that his wife did not commit suicide?’
‘No, indeed. That was why I was so startled just now.’
‘And Miss Marle? She never talked about her sister’s death, either?’
‘No.’
‘Any idea what made George Barton buy a house in the country? Did you or your husband suggest the idea to him?’
‘No. It was quite a surprise.’
‘And his manner to you was always friendly?’
‘Very friendly indeed.’
‘And what do you know about Mr Anthony Browne, Lady Alexandra?’
‘I really know nothing at all. I have met him occasionally and that is all.’
‘What about you, Mr Farraday?’
‘I think I know probably less about Browne than my wife does. She at any rate has danced with him. He seems a likeable chap—American, I believe.’
‘Would you say from observation at the time that he was on special terms of intimacy with Mrs Barton?’
‘I have absolutely no knowledge on that point, chief inspector.’
‘I am simply asking you for your impression, Mr Farraday.’
Stephen frowned.
‘They were friendly—that is all I can say.’
‘And you, Lady Alexandra?’
‘Simply my impression, chief inspector?’
‘Simply your impression.’
‘Then, for what it is worth, I did form the impression that they knew each other well and were on intimate terms. Simply, you understand, from the way they looked at each other—I have no concrete evidence.’
‘Ladies have often very good judgement on these matters,’ said Kemp. That somewhat fatuous smile with which he delivered this remark would have amused Colonel Race if he had been present. ‘Now, what about Miss Lessing, Lady Alexandra?’
‘Miss Lessing, I understand, was Mr Barton’s secretary. I met her for the first time on the evening that Mrs Barton died. After that I met her once when she was staying down in the country, and last night.’
‘If I may ask you another informal question, did you form the impression that she was in love with George Barton?’
‘I really haven’t the least idea.’
‘Then we’ll come to the events of last night.’
He questioned both Stephen and his wife minutely on the course of the tragic evening. He had not hoped for much from this, and all he got was confirmation of what he had already been told. All accounts agreed on the important points—Barton had proposed a toast to Iris, had drunk it and immediately afterwards had got up to dance. They had all left the table together and George and Iris had been the first to return to it. Neither of them had any explanation to offer as to the empty chair except that George Barton had distinctly said that he was expecting a friend of his, a Colonel Race, to occupy it later in the evening—a statement which, as the inspector knew, could not possibly be the truth. Sandra Farraday said, and her husband agreed, that when the lights went up after the cabaret, George had stared at the empty chair in a peculiar manner and had for some moments seemed so absent-minded as not to hear what was said to him—then he had rallied himself and proposed Iris’s health.
The only item that the chief inspector could count as an addition to his knowledge, was Sandra’s account of her conversation with George at Fairhaven—and his plea that she and her husband would collaborate with him over this party for Iris’s sake.
It was a reasonably plausible pretext, the chief inspector thought, though not the true one. Closing his notebook in which he had jotted down one or two hieroglyphics, he rose to his feet.
‘I’m very grateful to you, my lord, and to Mr Farraday and Lady Alexandra for your help and collaboration.’
‘Will my daughter’s presence be required at the inquest?’
‘The proceedings will be purely formal on this occasion. Evidence of identification and the medical evidence will be taken and the inquest