Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [45]
These were Superintendent Battle’s thoughts:
Suppose that’s Miss Aldin. Cool customer—competent woman, I should say. Won’t catch her off guard easily. Man next to her is a dark horse—got a groggy arm—poker face—got an inferiority complex as likely as not. That’s one of these wives, I suppose—she’s scared to death—yes, she’s scared all right. Funny about that coffee cup. That’s Strange, I’ve seen him before somewhere. He’s got the jitters all right—nerves shot to pieces. Redheaded girl’s a tartar—devil of a temper. Brains as well as temper, though.
Whilst he was thus sizing them up Inspector Leach was making a stiff little speech. Mary Aldin mentioned everyone present by name.
She ended up:
“It has been a terrible shock to us, of course, but we are anxious to help you in any way we can.”
“To begin with,” said Leach, holding it up, “does anybody know anything about this golf club?”
With a little cry, Kay said, “How horrible. Is that what—?” and stopped.
Nevile Strange got up and came round the table.
“Looks like one of mine. Can I just see?”
“It’s quite all right now,” said Inspector Leach. “You can handle it.”
That significant “now” did not seem to produce any reaction in the onlookers. Nevile examined the club.
“I think it’s one of the niblicks out of my bag,” he said. “I can tell you for sure in a minute or two. If you will just come with me.” They followed him to a big cupboard under the stairs. He flung open the door of it and to Battle’s confused eyes it seemed literally crowded with tennis racquets. At the same time, he remembered where he had seen Nevile Strange before. He said quickly:
“I’ve seen you play at Wimbledon, sir.”
Nevile half turned his head. “Oh yes, have you?”
He was throwing aside some of the racquets. There were two golf bags in the cupboard leaning up against fishing tackle.
“Only my wife and I play golf,” explained Nevile. “And that’s a man’s club. Yes, that’s right—it’s mine.”
He had taken out his bag, which contained at least fourteen clubs.
Inspector Leach thought to himself:
“These athletic chaps certainly take themselves seriously. Wouldn’t like to be his caddy.”
Nevile was saying:
“It’s one of Walter Hudson’s niblicks from St. Esbert’s.”
“Thank you, Mr. Strange. That settles one question.”
Nevile said: “What beats me is that nothing was taken. And the house doesn’t seem to have been broken into?” His voice was bewildered—but it was also frightened.
Battle said to himself:
“They’ve been thinking it out, all of them….”
“The servants,” said Nevile, “are so absolutely harmless.”
“I shall talk to Miss Aldin about the servants,” said Inspector Leach smoothly. “In the meantime I wonder if you could give me any idea who Lady Tressilian’s solicitors are?”
“Askwith & Trelawny,” replied Nevile promptly. “St. Loo.”
“Thank you, Mr. Strange. We shall have to find out from them all about Lady Tressilian’s property.”
“Do you mean,” asked Nevile, “who inherits her money?”
“That’s right, sir. Her will, and all that.”
“I don’t know about her will,” said Nevile. “She had not very much of her own to leave so far as I know. I can tell you about the bulk of her property.”
“Yes, Mr. Strange?”
“It comes to me and my wife under the will of the late Sir Matthew Tressilian. Lady Tressilian only had a life interest in it.”
“Indeed, is that so?” Inspector Leach looked at Nevile with the interested attention of someone who spots a possibly valuable addition to his pet collection. The look made Nevile wince nervously. Inspector Leach went on and his voice was impossibly genial.
“You’ve no idea of the amount, Mr. Strange?”
“I couldn’t tell you offhand. In the neighbourhood of a hundred thousand pounds, I believe.”
“Indeed. To each of you?”
“No, divided between us.”
“I see. A very considerable sum.”
Nevile