Crooked House

family were asked ? oh, quite politely, to

  stay put." ^

  "Quite so. She shinned down a pipe from

  the bathroom window."

  The Old Man's lips twitched for a moment

  into a smile.

  "She seems," he said, "to be a young

  lady of some resource."

  "But your police force is fully efficient,"

  I said. "A nice Army type tracked her to ,

  Mario's. I shall figure in the reports you

  get. Five foot eleven, brown hair, brown

  eyes, dark blue pinstripe suit etc."

  The Old Man looked at me hard.

  "Is this ? serious?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "It's serious, dad."

  There was a moment's silence.

  "Do you mind?" I asked.

  "I shouldn't have minded ? a week ago.

  They're a well established family ? the girl

  will have money ? and I know you. You i

  don't lose your head easily. As it is ?"

  "Yes, dad?"

  "It may be all right, if ?"

  "If what?"

  "If the right person did it."

  It was the second time that night I had

  heard that phrase. I began to be interested.

  "Just who is the right person?"

  He threw a sharp glance at me.

  "How much do you know about it all?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" He looked surprised. "Didn't j

  the girl tell you?"

  "No . . . She said she'd rather I saw it

  all ? from an outside point of view."

  "Now I wonder why that was?"

  "Isn't it rather obvious?"

  "No, Charles. I don't think it is."

  He walked up and down frowning. He

  had lit a cigar and the cigar had gone out.

  That showed me just how disturbed the old

  boy was.

  "How much do you know about the

  family?" he shot at me.

  "Damnall! I know there was the old man

  and a lot of sons and grandchildren and inlaws.

  I haven't got the ramifications clear."

  I paused and then said, "You'd better put

  me in the picture, dad."

  "Yes." He sat down. "Very well then ?

  I'll begin at the beginning ? with Aristide

  Leonides. He arrived in England when he

  was twenty four."

  "A Greek from Smyrna."

  "You do know that much?"

  "Yes, but it's about all I do know."

  The door opened and Glover came in to

  say that Chief Inspector Taverner was here.

  "He's in charge of the case," said my

  father. "We'd better have him in. He's

  been checking up on the family. Knows

  more about them than I do."

  ? I asked if the local police had called in

  the Yard.

  , "It's in our jurisdiction. Swinly Dean is

  Greater London."

  I nodded as Chief Inspector Taverner

  came into the room. I knew Taverner from

  many years back. He greeted me warmly

  and congratulated me on my safe return.

  "I'm putting Charles in the picture," said

  the Old Man. "Correct me if I go wrong,

  Taverner. Leonides came to London in

  1884. He started up a little restaurant in

  Soho. It paid. He started up another. Soon

  he owned seven or eight of them. They all

  paid hand over fist."

  "Never made any mistakes in anything

  he handled," said Chief Inspector Taverner.

  "He'd got a natural flair," said my father.

  "In the end he was behind most of the well

  known restaurants in London. Then he

  went into the catering business in a big

  way."

  "He was behind a lot of other businesses

  as well," said Taverner. "Second hand

  clothes trade, cheap jewellery stores, lots of

  things. Of course," he added thoughtfully.

  "He was always a twister."

  "You mean he was a crook?" I asked.

  Taverner shook his head.

  "No, I don't mean that. Crooked, yes ?

  but not a crook. Never anything outside

  the law. But he was the sort of chap that

  thought up all the ways you can get round

  the law. He's cleaned up a packet that way

  even in this last war, and old as he was.

  Nothing he did was ever illegal ? but as

  soon as he'd got on to it, you had to have

  a law about it, if you know what I mean.

  But by that time he'd gone on to the next

  thing." .

  "He doesn't sound a very attractive

  character," I said.

  "Funnily enough, he was attractive. He'd

  got personality, you know. You could feel

  it. Nothing much to look at. Just a gnome

  ? ugly little fellow ? but magnetic ?

  women always fell for him."

  "He made a rather astonishing marriage,"

  said my father. "Married the daughter of a

  country squire ? an M.F.H."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Money?"

  The Old Man shook his head.

  "No, it was a love match. She met

  him over some catering arrangements for a

  friend's wedding ? and she fell for him.

  Her parents cut up rough, but she was

  determined to have him. I tell you, the man

  had charm ? there was something exotic

  and dynamic about him that appealed to

  her. She was bored stiff with her own

  kind."

  "And the marriage was happy?"

  "It was very happy, oddly enough. Of

  course their respective friends didn't mix

  (those were the days before money swept

  aside all class distinctions) but that didn't

  seem to worry them. They did without

  friends. He built a rather preposterous

  house at Swinly Dean and they lived there

  and had eight children."

  "This is indeed a family chronicle."

  "Old Leonides was rather clever to choose

  Swinly Dean. It was only beginning to be

  fashionable then. The second and third golf

  courses hadn't been made. There was a

  mixture there of Old Inhabitants who were

  passionately fond of their gardens and who

  liked Mrs. Leonides, and rich City men

  who wanted to be in with Leonides, so they

  could take their choice of acquaintances.

  They were perfectly happy, I believe, until

  she died of pneumonia in 1905."

  ^ "Leaving him with eight children?"

  "One died in infancy. Two of the sons

  were killed in the last war. One daughter

  married and went to Australia and died

  there. An unmarried daughter was killed in

  a motor accident. Another died a year or

  two ago. There are two still living -- the

  eldest son, Roger, who is married but has

  no children, and Philip who married a well

  known actress and has three children. Your

  Sophia, Eustace and Josephine."

  "And they are all living at -- what is it?

  -- Three Gables?"

  "Yes. The Roger Leonides were bombed

  out early in the war. Philip and his family

  I have lived there since 1938. And there's an

  elderly aunt. Miss de Haviland, sister of

  the first Mrs. Leonides. She always loathed

  her brother-in-law apparently, but when


  her sister died she considered it her duty

  I to accept her brother-in-law's invitation to

  live with him and bring up the children."

  "She's very hot on duty," said Inspector

  Taverner. "But she's not the kind that

  changes her mind about people. She always

  disapproved of Leonides and his methods --"

  "Well," I said, "it seems a pretty good

  house full. Who do you think killed him?"

  Taverner shook his head.

  "Early days," he said, "early days to say

  that."

  | "Come on, Taverner," I said. "I bet

  you think you know who did it. We're not

  in court, man."

  "No," said Taverner gloomily. "And we

  never may be."

  "You mean he may not have been murdered?"

  "Oh, he was murdered all right. Poisoned.

  But you know what these poisoning cases

  are like. It's very tricky getting the evidence.

  Very tricky. All the possibilities may point

  one way --" &

  "That's what I'm trying to get at. You've

  got it all taped out in your mind, haven't

  you?"

  "It's a case of very strong probability.

  It's one of those obvious things. The perfect

  set-up. But I don't know, I'm sure. It's

  tricky."

  I looked appealingly at the Old Man.

  He said slowly:

  "In murder cases, as you know, Charles, the obvious is usually the right solution.

  Old Leonides married again, ten years ago."

  "When he was seventy five?"

  "Yes, he married a young woman of

  twenty four." t

  I whistled.

  "What sort of a young woman."

  "A young woman out of a tea shop. A

  perfectly respectable young woman ? good

  looking in an anaemic 5 apathetic sort of

  way."

  "And she's the strong probability?"

  "I ask you, sir," said Taverner. "She's

  only thirty four now ? and that's a

  dangerous age. She likes living soft. And

  there's a young man in the house. Tutor to

  the grandchildren. Not been in the war ?

  got a bad heart or something. They're as

  thick as thieves."^

  | I looked at him thoughtfully. It was,

  certainly, an old and familiar pattern. The

  mixture as before. And the second Mrs.

  | Leonides was, my father had emphasized,

  very respectable. In the name of respectabi|

  lity many murders have been committed.

  "What was it?" I asked. "Arsenic?"

  "No. We haven't got the analyst's report

  yet ? but the doctor thinks it's eserine."

  "That's a little unusual, isn't it? Surely

  easy to trace purchaser."

  "Not this thing. It was his own stuff,

  you see. Eyedrops."

  "Leonides suffered from diabetes," said

  my father. "He had regular injections of

  11 insulin. Insulin is given out in small bottles

  with a rubber cap. A hypodermic needle is

  | pressed down through the rubber cap and

  the injection drawn up."

  I guessed the next bit.

  "And it wasn't insulin in the bottle, but I

  eserine?"

  "Exactly."

  "And who gave him the injection?" I

  asked.

  "His wife."

  I understood now what Sophia had meant

  by the "right person."

  I asked: "Does the family get on well

  with the second Mrs. Leonides?"

  "No. I gather they are hardly on speaking

  terms." m t^

  It all seemed clearer and clearer. Nevertheless

  5 Inspector Taverner was clearly not

  happy about it. |

  "What don't you like about it?" I asked

  him.

  "If she did it, Mr. Charles, it would have

  been so easy for her to substitute a bona ride bottle of insulin afterwards. In fact, if

  she is guilty, I can't imagine why on earth

  she didn't do just that."

  "Yes, it does seem indicated. Plenty of

  insulin about?"

  "Oh yes, full bottles and empty ones.

  And if she'd done that, ten to one the

  doctor wouldn't have spotted it. Very little |

  is known of the post mortem appearances

  in human poisoning by eserine. But as it

  was he checked up on the insulin (in case

  it was the wrong strength or something like

  that) and so, of course, he soon spotted

  that it wasn't insulin."

  "So it seems," I said thoughtfully, "that

  Mrs. Leonides was either very stupid ? or

  possibly very clever."

  "You mean ?"

  "That she may be gambling on your

  coming to the conclusion that nobody could

  have been as stupid as she appears to have

  been. What are the alternatives? Any other

  ? suspects?"

  The Old Man said quietly:

  "Practically anyone in the house could

  have done it. There was always a good store

  of insulin ? at least a fortnight's supply.

  One of the phials could have been tampered

  with, and replaced in the knowledge that it

  would be used in due course."

  "And anybody, more or less, had access

  to them?"

  "They weren't locked away. They were

  kept on a special shelf in the medicine

  cupboard in the bathroom of his part of the

  house. Everybody in the house came and

  went freely."

  "Any strong motive?" My father sighed.

  enormously rich! He had made over a good

  deal of his money to his family, it is true, but it may be that somebody wanted more."

  "But the one that wanted it most would

  be the present widow. Has her young man

  any money?"

  "No. Poor as a Church mouse." o

  Something clicked in my brain. I remembered

  Sophia's quotation. I suddenly remembered

  the whole verse of the nursery

  rhyme:

  There was a crooked man and he went

  fc a crooked mile 5:1

  He found a crooked sixpence beside

  a crooked stile

  He had a crooked cat which caught

  a crooked mouse

  And they all lived together in a little

  crooked house.

  I said to Taverner:

  "How does she strike you -- Mrs.

  Leonides? What do you think of her?"

  He replied slowly:

  "It's hard to say -- very hard to say.

  She's not easy. Very quiet ? so you don't

  know what she's thinking. But she likes

  living soft ? that I'll swear I'm right about.

  Puts me in mind, you know, of a cat, a big

  purring lazy cat . . . Not that I've anything

  against cats. Cats are all right ..."

  He sighed.

  "What we want," he said, "is evidence."

  ||ft1'" '

  K Yes, I thought, we all wanted evidence

  that Mrs. Leonides had poisoned her

  husband. Sophia wanted it, and I wanted

  it, and Chief Inspector Taverner wanted it.

  I Then everything in the garden would be

  lovely!

  But Sophia wasn't sure, and I wasn't

  sure, and I didn't think Chief In
spector

  Taverner was sure either. . . .

  ife

  ^

  Four

  On the following day I went down to Three

  Gables with Taverner.

  My position was a curious one. It was, to say the least of it, quite unorthodox. But

  the Old Man has never been highly orthodox.

  I had a certain standing. I had worked

  with the Special Branch at the Yard during

  the early days of the war.

  This, of course, was entirely different --

  but my earlier performances had given me, so to speak, a certain official standing.

  My father said:

  "If we're ever going to solve this case, we've got to get some inside dope. We've

  got to know all about the people in that

  house. We've got to know them from the

  inside -- not the outside. You're the man

  who can get that for us."

  I didn't like it. I threw my cigarette end

  into the grate as I said:

  "T?-

  I'm a police spy? Is that it? I'm to get

  the inside dope from Sophia whom I love

  and who both loves and trusts me, or so I

  believe."

  The Old Man became quite irritable. He

  said sharply:

  "For Heaven's Sake don't take the commonplace

  view. To begin with, you don't

  believe, do you, that your young woman

  murdered her grandfather?"

  I "Of course not. The idea's absolutely

  absurd."

  "Very well -- we don't think so either.

  She's been away for some years, she has

  always been on perfectly amicable terms

  with him. She has a very generous income

  | and he would have been, I should say, delighted to hear of her engagement to you

  and would probably have made a handsome

  marriage settlement on her. We don't

  suspect her. Why should we? But you can

  make quite sure of one thing. If this thing

  isn't cleared up, that girl won't marry you.

  From what you've told me I'm fairly sure

  of that. And mark this, it's the kind of

  crime that may never be cleared up. We

  may be reasonably sure that the wife and

  her young man were in cahoots over it --

  but proving it will be another matter.

  There's not even a case to put up to the

  D.P.P. so far. And unless we get definite

  evidence against her, there'll always be a

  nasty doubt. You see that, don't you?"

  Yes, I saw that.

  The Old Man then said quietly: j

  "Why not put it to her?"

  "You mean ? ask Sophia if I ?" I

  stopped.

  The Old Man was nodding his head

  vigorously. r

  "Yes, yes . . . I'm not asking you to

  worm your way in without telling the girl

  what you're up to. See what she has to say

  about it." . -E

  And so it came about that the following

  day I drove down with Chief Inspector |

  Taverner and Detective Sergeant Lamb to

  Swinly Dean.

  A little way beyond the golf course, we

  turned in at a gateway where I imagined

  that before the war there had been an

  imposing pair of gates. Patriotism or ruthless

  requisitioning had swept these away. We

  drove up a long curving drive flanked with

  rhododendrons and came out on a gravelled

  sweep in front of the house.

  It was incredible! I wondered why it had

  been called Three Gables. Eleven Gables J

  would have been more apposite! The curious

  thing was that it had a strange air of being

  distorted -- and I thought I knew why. It

  was the type, really, of a cottage, it was a

  cottage swollen out of all proportion. It was

  like looking at a country cottage through a

  gigantic magnifying glass. The slantwise

  beams, the half-timbering, the gables -- it

  was a little crooked house that had grown

  like a mushroom in the night!

  Yet I got the idea. It was a Greek

  | restauranteer's idea of something English.

  It was meant to be an Englishman's home

  -- built the size of a castle! I wondered

  what the first Mrs. Leonides had thought

  of it. She had not, I fancied, been consulted

  | or shown the plans. It was, most probably, her exotic husband's little surprise. I wondered

  if she had shuddered or smiled.

  Apparently she had lived there quite

  happily.

  "Bit overwhelming, isn't it?" said Inspector

  Taverner. "Of course, the old

  gentleman built on to it a good deal --

  making it into three separate houses, so to

  speak, with kitchens and everything. It's

  all tip top inside, fitted up like a luxury

  hotel."

  Sophia came out of the front door. She

  was hatless and wore a green shirt and a

  tweed skirt.

  She stopped dead when she saw me.

  "You?" she exclaimed.

  I said:

  "Sophia, I've got to talk to you. Where

  can we go?"

  For a moment I thought she was going

  to demur, then she turned and said: "This

  way."

  We walked down across the lawn. There

  was a fine view across Swinly Dean's No 1

  course ? away to a clump of pine trees on

  a hill, and beyond it, to the dimness of

  hazy countryside.

  Sophia led me to a rockgarden, now

  somewhat neglected, where there was a

  rustic wooden seat of great discomfort, and

  we sat down.

  "Well?" she said.

  Her voice was not encouraging.

  I said my piece ? all of it.

  She listened very attentively. Her face

  gave little indication of what she was

  thinking, but when I came at last to a full

  stop, she sighed. It was a deep sigh.

  "Your father," she said, "is a very clever

  man."

  "The Old Man has his points. I think

  it's a rotten idea myself -- but --"

  She interrupted me.