怪房子 英文名著｜第9章

When I entered the room, Taverner was just saying:

"And here we are. I talked to them all, and what did I get?... Absolutely nothing! No motive. None of them needs money. And the only thing we got against the woman and the guy is that they exchanged glances when the coffee was poured."

"Come on, Taverner," I said. "I think I got a little more."

"Did you, indeed? Very well, Mr Charles, what did you get?"

I sat down, lighted a cigarette, and observed the audience.

"Roger Leonides and his wife were planning to go abroad on next Tuesday. Roger and his father had a tense interview  on the day the old man died. The old Leonides had found out something wrong and Roger was pleading guilty."

Taverner's face went purple.

"How the hell did you get hold of this?" he asked. "If it was from the servants..."

"Not from the servants. I got it -" I paused - "from a private agent."

"What do you mean?"

"I must admit that according to the rules of detective fiction he, or she, left the police far behind," I went on. "And I also think that my private investigator still has some tricks up the sleeve."

"Roger!" said Taverner. "So Roger - is a scoundrel?"

I felt quite reluctant to tell all this, because I had liked Roger Leonides. And it was also possible that Josephine's informations weren't trustworthy.

"So the kid told you?" said Taverner.

"She seems to be wise to everything that goes on in that house."

"Children usually are," said my father drily.

This information, if true, altered the whole position. If Roger had been, as Josephine had confidently suggested, 'embezzling' the funds of Associated Catering and if the old man had found it out, it might have been vital to silence old Leonides and to leave England before the truth came out. Possibly Roger had rendered himself liable to criminal prosecution.

It was agreed that inquiries should be made without delay into the affairs of Associated Catering.

"It will be an almighty crash, if that goes," my father remarked. "It's a huge concern. There are millions involved."

"If it's really in Queer Street, it gives us what we want," said Taverner. "Father summons Roger. Roger breaks down and confesses. Brenda Leonides was out at a cinema. Roger has only got to leave his father's room, walk into the bathroom, empty out an insulin phial and replace it with the strong solution of eserine and there you are. Or his wife may have done it. She went over to the other wing after she came home that day - says she went over to fetch a pipe Roger had left there. But she could have gone over to switch the stuff before Brenda came home and gave him his injection. She'd be quite cool and capable about it."

I nodded. "Yes, I fancy her as the actual doer of the deed. She's cool enough for anything! And I don't think that Roger Leonides would think of poison as a means - that trick with the insulin has something feminine about it."

"Plenty of men poisoners," said my father drily.

"Oh, I know, sir," said Taverner. "Don't I know!" he added with feeling.

"All the same I shouldn't have said Roger was the type."

"Pritchard," the Old Man reminded him, "was a good mixer."

"Let's say they were in it together."

"With the accent on Lady Macbeth," said my father, as Taverner departed. "Is that how she strikes you, Charles?"

I visualised the slight graceful figure standing by the window in that austere room.

"Not quite," I said. "Lady Macbeth was essentially a greedy woman. I don't think Clemency Leonides is. I don't think she wants or cares for possessions."

"But she might care, desperately, about her husband's safety?"

"That, yes. And she could certainly be - well, ruthless."

"Different kinds of ruthlessness..."

That was what Sophia had said.

I looked up to see the Old Man watching me.

"What's on your mind, Charles?"

But I didn't tell him then.

I was summoned on the following day and found Taverner and my father together. Taverner was looking pleased with himself and slightly excited.

"Associated Catering is on the rocks," said my father.

"Due to crash at any minute," said Taverner.

"I saw there had been a sharp fall in the shares last night," I said. "But they seem to have recovered this morning."

"We've had to go about it very cautiously," said Taverner. "No direct inquiries. Nothing to cause a panic - or to put the wind up our absconding gentleman. But we've got certain private sources of information and the information there is fairly definite. Associated Catering is on the verge of a crash. It can't possibly meet its commitments. The truth seems to be that it's been grossly mismanaged for years."

"By Roger Leonides?"

"Yes. He's had supreme power, you know."

"And he's helped himself to money -"

"No," said Taverner. "We don't think he has. To put it bluntly, he may be a murderer, but we don't think he's a swindler. Quite frankly he's just been - a fool. He doesn't seem to have had any kind of judgement. He's launched out where he should have held in - he's hesitated and retreated where he ought to have launched out. He's delegated power to the last sort of people he ought to have delegated it to. He's a trustful sort of chap, and he's trusted the wrong people. At every time, and on every occasion, he's done the wrong thing."

"There are people like that," said my father. "And they're not really stupid either. They're bad judges of men, that's all. And they're enthusiastic at the wrong time."

"A man like that oughtn't to be in business at all," said Taverner.

"He probably wouldn't be," said my father, "except for the accident of being Aristide Leonides's son."

"That show was absolutely booming when the old man handed it over to him. It ought to have been a gold mine! You'd think he could have just sat back and let the show run itself."

"No," my father shook his head. "No show runs itself. There are always decisions to be made - a man sacked here - a man appointed there - small questions of policy. And with Roger Leonides the answer seems to have been always wrong."

"That's right," said Taverner. "He's a loyal sort of chap, for one thing. He kept on the most frightful duds - just because he had an affection for them - or because they'd been there a long time. And then he sometimes had wild impractical ideas and insisted on trying them out in spite of the enormous outlay involved."

"But nothing criminal?" my father insisted.

"No, nothing criminal."

"Then why murder?" I asked.

"He may have been a fool and not a knave," said Taverner. "But the result was the same - or nearly the same. The only thing that could save Associated Catering from the smash was a really colossal sum of money by next -" (he consulted a notebook) "by next Wednesday at the latest."

"Such a sum as he would inherit, or thought he would have inherited, under his father's will?"

"Exactly."

"But he wouldn't be able to have got that sum in cash."

"No. But he'd have got credit. It's the same thing."

The Old Man nodded.

"Wouldn't it have been simpler to go to old Leonides and ask for help?" he suggested.

"I think he did," said Taverner. "I think that's what the kid overheard. The old boy refused point blank, I should imagine, to throw good money after bad. He would, you know."

I thought that Taverner was right there. Aristide Leonides had refused the backing for Magda's play - he had said that it would not be a Box Office success. Events had proved him correct. He was a generous man to his family, but he was not a man to waste money in unprofitable enterprises.

And Associated Catering ran to thousands, or probably hundreds of thousands. He had refused point blank, and the only way for Roger to avoid financial ruin was for his father to die.

Yes, there was certainly a motive there all right.

My father looked at his watch.

"I've asked him to come here," he said. "He'll be here any minute now."

"Roger?"

"Yes."

"Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly?" I murmured.

Taverner looked at me in a shocked way.

"We shall give him all the proper cautions," he said severely.

The stage was set, the shorthand writer established. Presently the buzzer sounded, and a few minutes later Roger Leonides entered the room.

He came in eagerly - and rather clumsily - he stumbled over a chair. I was reminded as before of a large friendly dog. At the same time I decided quite definitely that it was not he who had carried out the actual process of transferring eserine to an insulin bottle. He would have broken it, spilled it, or muffed the operation in some way or other. No. Clemency's, I decided, had been the actual hand, though Roger had been privy to the deed.

Words rushed from him:

"You wanted to see me? You've found out something? Hullo, Charles, I didn't see you. Nice of you to come along. But please tell me. Sir Arthur -"

Such a nice fellow - really such a nice fellow. But lots of murderers had been nice fellows - so their astonished friends had said afterwards. Feeling rather like Judas, I smiled a greeting.

My father was deliberate, coldly official. The glib phrases were uttered. Statement... taken down... no compulsion... solicitor...

Roger Leonides brushed them all aside with the same characteristic eager impatience.

I saw the faint sardonic smile on Chief Inspector Taverner's face, and read from it the thought in his mind.

"Always sure of themselves, these chaps. They can't make a mistake. They're far too clever!"

I sat down unobtrusively in a corner and listened.

"I have asked you to come here, Mr Leonides," my father said, "not to give you fresh information, but to ask for some information from you - information that you have previously withheld."

Roger Leonides looked bewildered.

"Withheld? But I've told you everything - absolutely everything!"

"I think not. You had a conversation with the deceased on the afternoon of his death?"

"Yes, yes, I had tea with him. I told you so."

"You told us that, yes, but you did not tell us about your conversation."

"We - just - talked."

"What about?"

"Daily happenings, the house, Sophia -"

"What about Associated Catering? Was that mentioned?"

I think I had hoped up to then that Josephine had been inventing the whole story - but if so, that hope was quickly quenched.

Roger's face changed. It changed in a moment from eagerness to something that was recognisably close to despair.

"Oh my God," he said. He dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

Taverner smiled like a contented cat.

"You admit, Mr Leonides, that you have not been frank with us?"

"How did you get to know about that? I thought nobody knew - I don't see how anybody could know."

"We have means of finding out these things, Mr Leonides." There was a majestic pause. "I think you will see now that you had better tell us the truth."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"

"Is it true that Associated Catering is on the verge of collapse?"

"Yes. It can't be staved off now. The crash is bound to come. If only my father could have died without ever knowing. I feel so ashamed - so disgraced -"

"There is a possibility of criminal prosecution?"

Roger sat up sharply.

"No, indeed. It will be bankruptcy - but an honourable bankruptcy. Creditors will be paid twenty shillings in the pound if I throw in my personal assets which I shall do. No, the disgrace I feel is to have failed my father. He trusted me. He made over to me this, his largest concern - and his pet concern. He never interfered, he never asked what I was doing. He just - trusted me... And I let him down."

My father said drily:

"You say there was no likelihood of criminal prosecution? Why then, had you and your wife planned to go abroad without telling anybody of your intention?"

"You know that, too?"

"Yes, Mr Leonides."

"But don't you see?" He leaned forward eagerly. "I couldn't face him with the truth. It would have looked, you see, as if I was asking for money? As though I wanted him to set me on my feet again. He - he was very fond of me. He would have wanted to help. But I couldn't - I couldn't go on - it would have meant making a mess of things all over again - I'm no good. I haven't got the ability. I'm not the man my father was. I've always known it. I've tried. But it's no good. I've been so miserable - God! you don't know how miserable I've been! Trying to get out of the muddle, hoping I'd just get square, hoping the dear old man would never need hear about it. And then it came - no more hope of avoiding the crash. Clemency - my wife - she understood, she agreed with me. We thought out this plan. Say nothing to anyone. Go away. And then let the storm break. I'd leave a letter for my father, telling him all about it - telling him how ashamed I was and begging him to forgive me. He's been so good to me always - you don't know! But it would be too late then for him to do anything. That's what I wanted. Not to ask him - or even to seem to ask him for help. Start again on my own somewhere. Live simply and humbly. Grow things. Coffee - fruit. Just have the bare necessities of life - hard on Clemency, but she swore she didn't mind. She's wonderful - absolutely wonderful."

"I see." My father's voice was dry. "And what made you change your mind?"

"Change my mind?"'

"Yes. What made you decide to go to your father and ask for financial help after all?"

Roger stared at him.

"But I didn't!"

"Come now, Mr Leonides."

"You've got it all wrong. I didn't go to him. He sent for me. He'd heard, somehow, in the City. A rumour? I suppose. But he always knew things. Someone had told him. He tackled me with it. Then, of course, I broke down... I told him everything. I said it wasn't so much the money - it was the feeling I'd let him down after he'd trusted me."

Roger swallowed convulsively. "The dear man," he said. "You can't imagine how he was to me. No reproaches. Just kindness. I told him I didn't want help, that I preferred not to have it - that I'd rather go away as I had planned to do. But he wouldn't listen. He insisted on coming to the rescue - on putting Associated Catering on its legs again."

Taverner said sharply:

"You are expecting us to believe that your father intended to come to your assistance financially?"

"Certainly he did. He wrote to his brokers then and there, giving them instructions."

I suppose he saw the incredulity on the two men's faces and flushed.

"Look here," he said, "I've still got the letter. I was to post it. But of course later - with - with the shock and confusion, I forgot. I've probably got it in my pocket now."

He drew out his wallet and started hunting through it. Finally he found what he wanted. It was a creased envelope with a stamp on it. It was adressed, as I saw by leaning forward, to Messrs. Greatorex and Hanbury.

"Read it for yourselves," he said. "If you don't believe me."