The Thirteen Problems - Agatha Christie [83]
‘Your daughter distinctly told you that Mr Sandford was responsible for her condition?’ asked Melchett crisply.
‘She did. In this very room she did.’
‘And what did you say to her?’ asked Sir Henry.
‘Say to her?’ The man seemed momentarily taken aback.
‘Yes. You didn’t, for example, threaten to turn her out of the house.’
‘I was a bit upset—that’s only natural. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s only natural. But, of course, I didn’t turn her out of the house. I wouldn’t do such a thing.’ He assumed virtuous indignation. ‘No. What’s the law for—that’s what I say. What’s the law for? He’d got to do the right by her. And if he didn’t, by God, he’d got to pay.’
He brought down his fist on the table.
‘What time did you last see your daughter?’ asked Melchett.
‘Yesterday—tea time.’
‘What was her manner then?’
‘Well, much as usual. I didn’t notice anything. If I’d known—’
‘But you didn’t know,’ said the Inspector drily.
They took their leave.
‘Emmott hardly creates a favourable impression,’ said Sir Henry thoughtfully.
‘Bit of a blackguard,’ said Melchett. ‘He’d have bled Sandford all right if he’d had the chance.’
Their next call was on the architect. Rex Sandford was very unlike the picture Sir Henry had unconsciously formed of him. He was a tall young man, very fair and very thin. His eyes were blue and dreamy, his hair was untidy and rather too long. His speech was a little too ladylike.
Colonel Melchett introduced himself and his companions. Then passing straight to the object of his visit, he invited the architect to make a statement as to his movements on the previous evening.
‘You understand,’ he said warningly. ‘I have no power to compel a statement from you and any statement you make may be used in evidence against you. I want the position to be quite clear to you.’
‘I—I don’t understand,’ said Sandford.
‘You understand that the girl Rose Emmott was drowned last night?’
‘I know. Oh! it’s too, too distressing. Really, I haven’t slept a wink. I’ve been incapable of any work today. I feel responsible—terribly responsible.’
He ran his hands through his hair, making it untidier still.
‘I never meant any harm,’ he said piteously. ‘I never thought. I never dreamt she’d take it that way.’
He sat down at a table and buried his face in his hands.
‘Do I understand you to say, Mr Sandford, that you refuse to make a statement as to where you were last night at eight-thirty?’
‘No, no—certainly not. I was out. I went for a walk.’
‘You went to meet Miss Emmott?’
‘No. I went by myself. Through the woods. A long way.’
‘Then how do you account for this note, sir, which was found in the dead girl’s pocket?’
And Inspector Drewitt read it unemotionally aloud.
‘Now, sir,’ he finished. ‘Do you deny that you wrote that?’
‘No—no. You’re right. I did write it. Rose asked me to meet her. She insisted. I didn’t know what to do. So I wrote that note.’
‘Ah, that’s better,’ said the Inspector.
‘But I didn’t go!’ Sandford’s voice rose high and excited. ‘I didn’t go! I felt it would be much better not. I was returning to town tomorrow. I felt it would be better not—not to meet. I intended to write from London and—and make—some arrangement.’
‘You are aware, sir, that this girl was going to have a child, and that she had named you as its father?’
Sandford groaned, but did not answer.
‘Was that statement true, sir?’
Sandford buried his face deeper.
‘I suppose so,’ he said in a muffled voice.
‘Ah!’ Inspector Drewitt could not disguise the satisfaction. ‘Now about this “walk” of yours. Is there anyone who saw you last night?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. As far as I can remember, I didn’t meet anybody.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sandford stared wildly at him. ‘What does it matter whether I was out