II

It is difficult to remember things in their exact chronological order. Thenext landmark of importance, of course, was Superintendent Nash’s visit.

But it was before that, I think, that we received calls from various mem-bers of the community, each of which was interesting in its way and shedsome light on the characters and personalities of the people involved.

Aimée Griffith came on the morning after the inquest. She was looking,as always, radiant with health and vigour and succeeded, also as usual, inputting my back up almost immediately. Joanna and Megan were out, so Idid the honours.

“Good morning,” said Miss Griffith. “I hear you’ve got Megan Hunterhere?”

“We have.”

“Very good of you, I’m sure. It must be rather a nuisance to you. I cameup to say she can come to us if you like. I dare say I can find ways of mak-ing her useful about the house.”

I looked at Aimée Griffith with a good deal of distaste.

“How kind of you,” I said. “But we like having her. She potters aboutquite happily.”

“I dare say. Much too fond of pottering, that child. Still, I suppose shecan’t help it, being practically half-witted.”

“I think she’s rather an intelligent girl,” I said.

Aimée Griffith gave me a hard stare.

“First time I’ve ever heard anyone say that of her,” she remarked. “Why,when you talk to her, she looks through you as though she doesn’t under-stand what you are saying!”

“She probably just isn’t interested,” I said.

“If so, she’s extremely rude,” said Aimée Griffith.

“That may be. But not half-witted.”

Miss Griffith declared sharply:

“At best, it’s woolgathering. What Megan needs is good hard work —something to give her an interest in life. You’ve no idea what a differencethat makes to a girl. I know a lot about girls. You’d be surprised at the dif-ference even becoming a Guide makes to a girl. Megan’s much too old tospend her time lounging about and doing nothing.”

“It’s been rather difficult for her to do anything else so far,” I said. “Mrs.

Symmington always seemed under the impression that Megan was abouttwelve years old.”

Miss Griffith snorted.

“I know. I had no patience with that attitude of hers. Of course she’sdead now, poor woman, so one doesn’t want to say much, but she was aperfect example of what I call the unintelligent domestic type. Bridge andgossip and her children—and even there that Holland girl did all the look-ing after them. I’m afraid I never thought very much of Mrs. Symmington,although of course I never suspected the truth.”

“The truth?” I said sharply.

Miss Griffith flushed.

“I was terribly sorry for Dick Symmington, its all having to come out asit did at the inquest,” she said. “It was awful for him.”

“But surely you heard him say that there was not a word of truth in thatletter—that he was quite sure of that?”

“Of course he said so. Quite right. A man’s got to stick up for his wife.

Dick would.” She paused and then explained: “You see, I’ve known DickSymmington a long time.”

I was a little surprised.

“Really?” I said. “I understood from your brother that he only boughtthis practice a few years ago.”

“Oh yes, but Dick Symmington used to come and stay in our part of theworld up north. I’ve known him for years.”

Women jump to conclusions that men do not. Nevertheless, the sud-denly softened tone of Aimée Griffith’s voice put, as our old nurse wouldhave expressed it, ideas into my head.

I looked at Aimée curiously. She went on—still in that softened tone:

“I know Dick very well… He’s a proud man, and very reserved. But he’sthe sort of man who could be very jealous.”

“That would explain,” I said deliberately, “why Mrs. Symmington wasafraid to show him or tell him about the letter. She was afraid that, being ajealous man, he might not believe her denials.”

Miss Griffith looked at me angrily and scornfully.

“Good Lord,” she said, “do you think any woman would go and swallowa lot of cyanide of potassium for an accusation that wasn’t true?”

“The coroner seemed to think it was possible. Your brother, too—”

Aimée interrupted me.

“Men are all alike. All for preserving the decencies. But you don’t catchme believing that stuff. If an innocent woman gets some foul anonymousletter, she laughs and chucks it away. That’s what I—” she paused sud-denly, and then finished, “would do.”

But I had noticed the pause. I was almost sure that what she had beenabout to say was “That’s what I did.”

I decided to take the war into the enemy’s country.

“I see,” I said pleasantly, “so you’ve had one, too?”

Aimée Griffith was the type of woman who scorns to lie. She paused aminute—flushed, then said:

“Well, yes. But I didn’t let it worry me!”

“Nasty?” I inquired sympathetically, as a fellow sufferer.

“Naturally. These things always are. The ravings of a lunatic. I read afew words of it, realized what it was and chucked it straight into thewastepaper basket.”

“You didn’t think of taking it to the police?”

“Not then. Least said soonest mended—that’s what I felt.”

An urge came over me to say solemnly: “No smoke without fire!” but Irestrained myself. To avoid temptation I reverted to Megan.

“Have you any idea of Megan’s financial position?” I asked. “It’s not idlecuriosity on my part. I wondered if it would actually be necessary for herto earn her living.”

“I don’t think it’s strictly necessary. Her grandmother, her father’smother, left her a small income, I believe. And in any case Dick Symming-ton would always give her a home and provide for her, even if her motherhasn’t left her anything outright. No, it’s the principle of the thing.”

“What principle?”

“Work, Mr. Burton. There’s nothing like work, for men and women. Theone unforgivable sin is idleness.”

“Sir Edward Grey,” I said, “afterwards our foreign minister, was sentdown from Oxford for incorrigible idleness. The Duke of Wellington, Ihave heard, was both dull and inattentive at his books. And has it ever oc-curred to you, Miss Griffith, that you would probably not be able to take agood express train to London if little Georgie Stephenson had been outwith his youth movement instead of lolling about, bored, in his mother’skitchen until the curious behaviour of the kettle lid attracted the attentionof his idle mind?”

Aimée merely snorted.

“It is a theory of mine,” I said, warming to my theme, “that we owe mostof our great inventions and most of the achievements of genius to idleness—either enforced or voluntary. The human mind prefers to be spoon-fedwith the thoughts of others, but deprived of such nourishment it will, re-luctantly, begin to think for itself—and such thinking, remember, is ori-ginal thinking and may have valuable results.

“Besides,” I went on, before Aimée could get in another sniff, “there isthe artistic side.”

I got up and took from my desk where it always accompanied me a pho-tograph of my favourite Chinese picture. It represents an old man sittingbeneath a tree playing cat’s cradle with a piece of string on his fingers andtoes.

“It was in the Chinese exhibition,” I said. “It fascinated me. Allow me tointroduce you. It is called ‘Old Man enjoying the Pleasure of Idleness.’”

Aimée Griffith was unimpressed by my lovely picture. She said: “Ohwell, we all know what the Chinese are like!”

“It doesn’t appeal to you?” I asked.

“Frankly, no. I’m not very interested in art, I’m afraid. Your attitude, Mr.

Burton, is typical of that of most men. You dislike the idea of women work-ing—of their competing—”

I was taken aback, I had come up against the Feminist. Aimée was wellaway, her cheeks flushed.

“It is incredible to you that women should want a career. It was incred-ible to my parents. I was anxious to study for a doctor. They would nothear of paying the fees. But they paid them readily for Owen. Yet I shouldhave made a better doctor than my brother.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “It was tough on you. If one wants to do athing—”

She went on quickly:

“Oh, I’ve got over it now. I’ve plenty of willpower. My life is busy andactive. I’m one of the happiest people in Lymstock. Plenty to do. But I dogo up in arms against the silly old-fashioned prejudice that women’s placeis always the home.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. “And that wasn’t really my point. Idon’t see Megan in a domestic role at all.”

“No, poor child. She’ll be a misfit anywhere, I’m afraid.” Aimée hadcalmed down. She was speaking quite normally again. “Her father, youknow—”

She paused and I said bluntly: “I don’t know. Everyone says ‘her father’

and drops their voice, and that is that. What did the man do? Is he alivestill?”

“I really don’t know. And I’m rather vague myself, I’m afraid. But hewas definitely a bad lot. Prison, I believe. And a streak of very strong ab-normality. That’s why it wouldn’t surprise me if Megan was a bit ‘want-ing.’”

“Megan,” I said, “is in full possession of her senses, and as I said before, Iconsider her an intelligent girl. My sister thinks so too. Joanna is very fondof her.”

Aimée said:

“I’m afraid your sister must find it very dull down here.”

And as she said it, I learnt something else. Aimée Griffith disliked my sis-ter. It was there in the smooth conventional tones of her voice.

“We’ve all wondered how you could both bear to bury yourselves insuch an out-of-the-way spot.”

It was a question and I answered it.

“Doctor’s orders. I was to come somewhere very quiet where nothingever happened.” I paused and added, “Not quite true of Lymstock now.”

“No, no, indeed.”

She sounded worried and got up to go. She said then:

“You know—it’s got to be put a stop to—all this beastliness! We can’thave it going on.”

“Aren’t the police doing anything?”

“I suppose so. But I think we ought to take it in hand ourselves.”

“We’re not as well equipped as they are.”

“Nonsense! We probably have far more sense and intelligence! A littledetermination is all that is needed.”

She said goodbye abruptly and went away.

When Joanna and Megan came back from their walk I showed Meganmy Chinese picture. Her face lighted up. She said, “It’s heavenly, isn’t it?”

“That is rather my opinion.”

Her forehead was crinkling in the way I knew so well.

“But it would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“To be idle?”

“No, not to be idle—but to enjoy the pleasures of it. You’d have to bevery old—”

She paused. I said: “He is an old man.”

“I don’t mean old that way. Not age. I mean old in—in….”

“You mean,” I said, “that one would have to attain a very high state ofcivilization for the thing to present itself to you in that way—a fine pointof sophistication? I think I shall complete your education, Megan, by read-ing to you one hundred poems translated from the Chinese.”