The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [15]
“I can’t,” said Miss Fitzgerald with decision. “I haven’t any idea”—she spoke slowly—“why anyone—anyone at all—should want to kill my uncle. I suppose—” But the sentence stopped there. Whatever it was she supposed, the Inspector, wait as he might, was not to be privy to it. “What do you want me to tell you?” she continued at length. (“I wish you’d be quick and go about your business,” her voice conveyed.)
“Just this, madam,” the Inspector said. “When did you last see Admiral Penistone?”
“Last night. When we came back from dining at the Vicarage.”
“What time would that be?” The Inspector believed in getting his information confirmed from as many sources as possible.
“Oh … a little after ten, I think. It struck ten just before we left.”
“And you rowed across, and came up to the house with the Admiral?”
“No, he didn’t come up to the house when I did. He was locking the boat-house, and he said he thought he’d like a cigar before he went to bed. So I said good night to him, and came straight up to the house.”
“Was there anyone about when you came in?” “No; but Emery and his wife had only just gone to bed, I think. I saw the lights going on and off as I came up. They must have been shutting up the house.” “And then—what did you do?”
“I came straight up, and went to bed myself.”
“You didn’t hear Admiral Penistone come in?”
“No. But I wasn’t listening particularly. He often stays up quite late, walking about,” said Miss Fitzgerald.
“I gather,” said the Inspector, “that Admiral Penistone, last night, appeared rather worried and distressed?”
“I don’t think so. … No. Why should he have been?”
“You hadn’t had a—a disagreement with him at all?”
“You mean,” said Miss Fitzgerald with disconcerting penetration, “about my marriage. That—is—pure—gossip.” There was a considerable amount of contempt in her tone. “My uncle was not in the least opposed to my marriage. He was a little worried, I believe, about the best way of arranging the money side of it—but that was only a question which would settle itself, in time. That was all.” But there must be a little more to it, the Inspector swiftly reflected, or she wouldn’t have tumbled so quick to what I was talking about.
“Then you can’t suggest at all what was worrying him?”
“I don’t think for a moment there was anything,” said Miss Fitzgerald; and made a slight movement that at least suggested a gesture of dismissal.
“I see. Well …” The Inspector would have liked to continue the interview, but did not see, at the moment, exactly what other information he could well demand. And it was perhaps hardly in the best of taste to sit there pestering a lady in her first grief—if she was grieved. There was a sudden twitch of a strong, rather large hand, that suggested more emotion than appeared on the surface, at any rate. “Just one more thing, Miss Fitzgerald, and then I need not trouble you further. Can you give me the name of Admiral Penistone’s lawyers?”
“Dakers and Dakers. They live somewhere in Lincoln’s Inn, I think.”
“Thank you. And if I could see Admiral Penistone’s papers now—and the servants—”
“I think all his papers are in the study. Emery will show you.” Miss Fitzgerald leaned across and touched the bell. “Inspector,” she said, a little suddenly, “will you tell me—what happens? Will they be bringing him—here?” It was the first trace of real emotion her voice had shown, and Rudge hastened to assure her that the body would be taken to the mortuary, and that every effort would be made to spare her as much as possible.
“Thank you,” she said, returning to indifference again; and at that moment Emery shuffled in. “Emery, take the Inspector to the Admiral’s study, and let him see anything he wants to. And you’d better none of you go out of the house. The Inspector may want to speak to you.” She leaned back in her chair, and made no movement, as Rudge, looking, he hoped, not as puzzled as he felt, followed Emery out of the room.
The Admiral’s study was a large and pleasant room on the first floor,