Читать «Crooked House / Скрюченный домишко. Книга для чтения на английском языке» онлайн - страница 19

Philip bowed his head. He showed no particular emotion.

‘I don’t know whether that suggests anything to you?’ Taverner went on.

‘What should it suggest? My own view is that my father must have taken the poison by accident.’

‘You really think so, Mr Leonides?’

‘Yes, it seems to me perfectly possible. He was close on ninety, remember, and with very imperfect eyesight.’

‘So he emptied the contents of his eyedrop bottle into an insulin bottle. Does that really seem to you a credible suggestion, Mr Leonides?’

Philip did not reply. His face became even more impassive.

Taverner went on:

‘We have found the eyedrop bottle, empty—in the dustbin, with no fingerprints on it. That in itself is curious. In the normal way there should have been fingerprints. Certainly your father’s, possibly his wife’s, or the valet…’

Philip Leonides looked up.

‘What about the valet?’ he said. ‘What about Johnson?’

‘You are suggesting Johnson as the possible criminal? He certainly had opportunity. But when we come to motive it is different. It was your father’s custom to pay him a bonus every year—each year the bonus was increased. Your father made it clear to him that this was in lieu of any sum that he might otherwise have left him in his will. The bonus now, after seven years’ service, has reached a very considerable sum every year and is still rising. It was obviously to Johnson’s interest that your father should live as long as possible. Moreover, they were on excellent terms, and Johnson’s record of past service is unimpeachable— he is a thoroughly skilled and faithful valet attendant.’ He paused. ‘We do not suspect Johnson.’

Philip replied tonelessly: ‘I see.’

‘Now, Mr Leonides, perhaps you will give me a detailed account of your own movements on the day of your father’s death?’

‘Certainly, Chief Inspector. I was here, in this room, all that day—with the exception of meals, of course.’

‘Did you see your father at all?’

‘I said good morning to him after breakfast as was my custom.’

‘Were you alone with him then?’

‘My—er—stepmother was in the room.’

‘Did he seem quite as usual?’

With a slight hint of irony, Philip replied:

‘He showed no foreknowledge that he was to be murdered that day.’

‘Is your father’s portion of the house entirely separate from this?’

‘Yes, the only access to it is through the door in the hall.’

‘Is that door kept locked?’

‘No.’

‘Never?’

‘I have never known it to be so.’

‘Anyone could go freely between that part of the house and this?’

‘Certainly. It was only separate from the point of view of domestic convenience.’

‘How did you first hear of your father’s death?’

‘My brother Roger, who occupies the west wing of the floor above, came rushing down to tell me that my father had had a sudden seizure. He had difficulty in breathing and seemed very ill.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I telephoned through to the doctor, which nobody seemed to have thought of doing. The doctor was out—but I left a message for him to come as soon as possible. I then went upstairs.’