Spider's Web - Agatha Christie [46]
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ said the Inspector, ‘but I really can’t believe that.’
Clarissa looked astonished. ‘Can’t believe what?’
‘That you’re only paying four guineas a week for this house, furnished.’
‘Honestly! You really are the most unbelieving man I’ve ever met,’ Clarissa told him as she rose and went to the desk. ‘You don’t seem to believe a single thing I’ve said to you this evening. Most things I can’t prove, but this one I can. And this time I’m going to show you.’
She opened a drawer of the desk and searched through the papers in it. ‘Here it is,’ she exclaimed. ‘No, it isn’t. Ah! Here we are.’ She took a document from the drawer and showed it to the Inspector. ‘Here’s the agreement for our tenancy of this house, furnished. It’s made out by a firm of solicitors acting for the executors and, look–four guineas per week.’
The Inspector looked jolted. ‘Well, I’m blessed! It’s extraordinary. Quite extraordinary. I’d have thought it was worth much more than that.’
Clarissa gave him one of her most charming smiles. ‘Don’t you think, Inspector, that you ought to beg my pardon?’ she suggested.
The Inspector injected a certain amount of charm into his voice as he responded. ‘I do apologize, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ he said, ‘but it really is extremely odd, you know.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’ Clarissa asked, as she replaced the document in the drawer.
‘Well, it so happens,’ the Inspector replied, ‘that a lady and a gentleman were down in this area with orders to view this house, and the lady happened to lose a very valuable brooch somewhere in the vicinity. She called in at the police station to give particulars, and she happened to mention this house. She said the owners were asking an absurd price. She thought eighteen guineas a week for a house out in the country and miles from anywhere was ridiculous. I thought so too.’
‘Yes, that is extraordinary, very extraordinary,’ Clarissa agreed, with a friendly smile. ‘I understand why you were sceptical. But perhaps now you’ll believe some of the other things I said.’
‘I’m not doubting your final story, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector assured her. ‘We usually know the truth when we hear it. I knew, too, that there would have to be some serious reason for those three gentlemen to cook up this harebrained scheme of concealment.’
‘You mustn’t blame them too much, Inspector,’ Clarissa pleaded. ‘It was my fault. I went on and on at them.’
All too aware of her charm, the Inspector replied, ‘Ah, I’ve no doubt you did. But what I still don’t understand is, who telephoned the police in the first place and reported the murder?’
‘Yes, that is extraordinary!’ said Clarissa, sounding startled. ‘I’d completely forgotten that.’
‘It clearly wasn’t you,’ the Inspector pointed out, ‘and it wouldn’t have been any of the three gentlemen–’
Clarissa shook her head. ‘Could it have been Elgin?’ she wondered. ‘Or perhaps Miss Peake?’
‘I don’t think it could possibly have been Miss Peake,’ said the Inspector. ‘She clearly didn’t know Costello’s body was there.’
‘I wonder if that’s so,’ said Clarissa thoughtfully.
‘After all, when the body was discovered, she had hysterics,’ the Inspector reminded her.
‘Oh, that’s nothing. Anyone can have hysterics,’ Clarissa remarked incautiously. The Inspector shot her a suspicious glance, at which she felt it expedient to give him as innocent a smile as she could manage.
‘Anyway, Miss Peake doesn’t live in the house,’ the Inspector observed. ‘She has her own cottage in the grounds.’
‘But she could have been in the house,’ said Clarissa. ‘You know, she has keys to all the doors.’
The Inspector shook his head. ‘No, it looks to me more like Elgin who must have called us,’ he said.
Clarissa moved closer to him, and flashed him a somewhat anxious smile. ‘You’re not going to send me to prison, are you?’ she asked. ‘Uncle Roly said he was sure you wouldn’t.’
The Inspector gave her an austere look. ‘It’s a good thing you changed