They do it with mirrors - Agatha Christie [44]
Inspector Curry broke in.
‘You heard shots? Where?’
‘Out of the fog, Inspector.’ Alex waved his hands in the air — plump well-kept hands. ‘Out of the fog. That was the wonderful part about it.’
‘It didn’t occur to you that anything was wrong?’
‘Wrong? Why should it?’
‘Are shots such a usual occurrence?’
‘Ah, I knew you wouldn’t understand! The shots fitted into the scene I was creating. I wanted shots. Danger — opium — crazy business. What did I care what they were really? Backfires from a lorry on the road? A poacher after rabbits?’
‘They snare rabbits mostly round here.’
Alex swept on:
‘A child letting off fireworks? I didn’t even think about them as — shots. I was in Limehouse — or rather at the back of the stalls — looking at Limehouse.’
‘How many shots?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alex petulantly. ‘Two or three. Two close together, I do remember that.’
Inspector Curry nodded.
‘And the sound of running footsteps, I think you said? Where were they?’
‘They came to me out of the fog. Somewhere near the house.’
Inspector Curry said gently:
‘That would suggest that the murderer of Christian Gulbrandsen came from outside.’
‘Of course. Why not? You don’t really suggest, do you, that he came from inside the house?’
Still very gently Inspector Curry said:
‘We have to think of everything.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Alex Restarick generously. ‘What a soul-destroying job yours must be, Inspector! The details, the times and places, the pettifogging pettiness of it. And in the end — what good is it all? Does it bring the wretched Christian Gulbrandsen back to life?’
‘There’s quite a satisfaction in getting your man, Mr Restarick.’
‘The Wild Western touch!’
‘Did you know Mr Gulbrandsen well?’
‘Not well enough to murder him, Inspector. I had met him, off and on, since I lived here as a boy. He made brief appearances from time to time. One of our captains of industry. The type does not interest me. He has quite a collection, I believe, of Thorwaldsen’s statuary — ’ Alex shuddered. ‘That speaks for itself, does it not? My God, these rich men!’
Inspector Curry eyed him meditatively. Then he said: ‘Do you take any interest in poisons, Mr Restarick?’
‘In poisons? My dear man, he was surely not poisoned first and shot afterwards. That would be too madly detective story.’
‘He was not poisoned. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Poison has a certain appeal…It has not the crudeness of the revolver bullet or the blunt weapon. I have no special knowledge of the subject, if that is what you mean.’
‘Have you ever had arsenic in your possession?’
‘In sandwiches — after the show? The idea has its allurements. You don’t know Rose Glidon? These actresses who think they have a name! No I have never thought of arsenic. One extracts it from weed killer or flypapers, I believe.’
‘How often are you down here, Mr Restarick?’
‘It varies, Inspector. Sometimes not for several weeks. But I try to get down for weekends whenever I can. I always regard Stonygates as my true home.’
‘Mrs Serrocold has encouraged you to do so?’
‘What I owe Mrs Serrocold can never be repaid. Sympathy, understanding, affection — ’
‘And quite a lot of solid cash as well, I believe?’
Alex looked faintly disgusted.
‘She treats me as a son, and she has belief in my work.’
‘Has she ever spoken to you about her will?’
‘Certainly. But may I ask what is the point of all these questions, Inspector? There is nothing wrong with Mrs Serrocold.’
‘There had better not be,’ said Inspector Curry grimly.
‘Now what can you possibly mean by that?’
‘If you don’t know, so much the better,’ said Inspector Curry. ‘And if you do — I’m warning you.’
When Alex had gone Sergeant Lake said:
‘Pretty bogus, would you say?’
Curry shook his head.
‘Difficult to say. He may have genuine creative talent. He may just like living soft and talking big. One doesn’t know. Heard running footsteps, did he? I’d be prepared to bet he made that up.’
‘For any particular reason?’
‘Definitely for a particular reason. We haven’t come to it yet, but we will.’