Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [62]
“I’m sure nobody here has any ideas of being persecuted.”
“I only gave that as an instance. There are other forms of insanity. But I believe whoever committed this crime was under the domination of one fixed idea—an idea on which they had brooded until literally nothing else mattered or had any importance.”
Mary shivered. She said:
“There’s something I think you ought to know.”
Concisely and clearly she told him of Mr. Treves’ visit to dinner and of the story he had told. Superintendent Battle was deeply interested.
“He said he could recognize this person? Man or woman—by the way?”
“I took it that it was a boy the story was about—but it’s true Mr. Treves didn’t actually say so—in fact I remember now—he distinctly stated he would not give any particulars as to sex or age.”
“Did he? Rather significant, perhaps. And he said there was a definite physical peculiarity by which he could be sure of knowing this child anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“A scar, perhaps—has anybody here got a scar?”
He noticed the faint hesitation before Mary Aldin replied:
“Not that I have noticed.”
“Come now, Miss Aldin,” he smiled. “You have noticed something. If so, don’t you think that I shall be able to notice it, too?”
She shook her head.
“I—I haven’t noticed anything of the kind.”
But he saw that she was startled and upset. His words had obviously suggested a very unpleasant train of thought to her. He wished he knew just what it was, but his experience made him aware that to press her at this minute would not yield any result.
He brought the conversation back to old Mr. Treves.
Mary told him of the tragic sequel to the evening.
Battle questioned her at some length. Then he said quietly:
“That’s a new one on me. Never came across that before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never come across a murder committed by the simple expedient of hanging a placard on a lift.”
She looked horrified.
“You don’t really think—?”
“That it was murder? Of course it was! Quick, resourceful murder. It might not have come off, of course—but it did come off.”
“Just because Mr. Treves knew—?”
“Yes. Because he would have been able to direct our attention to one particular person in this house. As it is, we’ve started in the dark. But we’ve got a glimmer of light now, and every minute the case is getting clearer. I’ll tell you this, Miss Aldin—this murder was very carefully planned beforehand down to the smallest detail. And I want to impress one thing on your mind—don’t let anybody know that you’ve told me what you have. That is important. Don’t tell anyone, mind.”
Mary nodded. She was still looking dazed.
Superintendent Battle went out of the room and proceeded to do what he had been about to do when Mary Aldin intercepted him. He was a methodical man. He wanted certain information, and a new and promising hare did not distract him from the orderly performance of his duties, however tempting this new hare might be.
He tapped on the library door, and Nevile Strange’s voice called “Come in.”
Battle was introduced to Mr. Trelawny, a tall distinguished-looking man with a keen dark eye.
“Sorry if I am butting in,” said Superintendent Battle apologetically. “But there’s something I haven’t got clear. You, Mr. Strange, inherit half the late Sir Matthew’s estate, but who inherits the other half?”
Nevile looked surprised.
“I told you. My wife.”
“Yes. But—” Battle coughed in a deprecating manner, “which wife, Mr. Strange?”
“Oh, I see. Yes, I expressed myself badly. The money goes to Audrey, who was my wife at the time the will was made. That’s right, Mr. Trelawny?”
The lawyer assented.
“The bequest is quite clearly worded. The estate is to be divided between Sir Matthew’s ward, Nevile Henry Strange, and his wife, Audrey Elizabeth Strange, née Standish. The subsequent divorce makes no difference whatever.”
“That’s clear, then,” said Battle. “I take it Mrs. Audrey Strange is fully aware of these facts?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Trelawny.
“And the present Mrs. Strange?