Читать «Crooked House / Скрюченный домишко. Книга для чтения на английском языке» онлайн - страница 96

I think Josephine might have protested, but I was not standing any nonsense. I ran her along forcibly into her own part of the house. There was a small unused morning room where we could be reasonably sure of being undisturbed. I took her in there, closed the door firmly, and made her sit on a chair. I took another chair and drew it forward so that I faced her. ‘Now, Josephine,’ I said, ‘we’re going to have a showdown. What exactly do you know?’

‘Lots of things.’

‘That I have no doubt about. That noddle of yours is probably crammed to overflowing with relevant and irrelevant information. But you know perfectly what I mean. Don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. I’m not stupid.’

I didn’t know whether the disparagement was for me or the police, but I paid no attention to it and went on:

‘You know who put something in your cocoa?’

Josephine nodded.

‘You know who poisoned your grandfather?’

Josephine nodded again.

‘And who knocked you on the head?’

Again Josephine nodded.

‘Then you’re going to come across with what you know. You’re going to tell me all about it—now.’

‘Shan’t.’

‘You’ve got to. Every bit of information you’ve got or ferret out has got to be given to the police.’

‘I won’t tell the police anything. They’re stupid. They thought Brenda had done it—or Laurence. I wasn’t stupid like that. I knew jolly well they hadn’t done it. I’ve had an idea who it was all along, and then I made a kind of test—and now I know I’m right.’

She finished on a triumphant note.

I prayed to Heaven for patience and started again.

‘Listen, Josephine, I dare say you’re extremely clever—’ Josephine looked gratified. ‘But it won’t be much good to you to be clever if you’re not alive to enjoy the fact. Don’t you see, you little fool, that as long as you keep your secrets in this silly way you’re in imminent danger?’

Josephine nodded approvingly.

‘Of course I am.’

‘Already you’ve had two very narrow escapes. One attempt nearly did for you. The other has cost somebody else their life. Don’t you see if you go on strutting about the house and proclaiming at the top of your voice that you know who the killer is, there will be more attempts made—and that either you’ll die or somebody else will?’

‘In some books person after person is killed,’ Josephine informed me with gusto. ‘You end by spotting the murderer because he or she is practically the only person left.’

‘This isn’t a detective story. This is Three Gables, Swinly Dean, and you’re a silly little girl who’s read more than is good for her. I’ll make you tell me what you know if I have to shake you till your teeth rattle.’

‘I could always tell you something that wasn’t true.’

‘You could, but you won’t. What are you waiting for, anyway?’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Josephine. ‘Perhaps I may never tell. You see, I might—be fond of the person.’

She paused as though to let this sink in.

‘And if I do tell,’ she went on, ‘I shall do it properly. I shall have everybody sitting round, and then I’ll go over it all—with the clues, and then I shall say, quite suddenly: