IX

George Lee was solemn and correct.

“A terrible business,” he said, shaking his head. “A terrible, terrible business. I can onlybelieve that it must—er—have been the work of a lunatic!”

Colonel Johnson said politely:

“That is your theory?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac¹. Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home in thevicinity.”

Superintendent² Sugden put in:

“And how do you suggest this—er—lunatic gained admittance to the house, Mr. Lee? Andhow did he leave it?”

George shook his head.

“That,” he said firmly, “is for the police to discover.”

Sugden said:

“We made the round of the house at once. All windows were closed and barred. The sidedoor was locked, so was the front door. Nobody could have left by the kitchen premises³ withoutbeing seen by the kitchen staff.”

George Lee cried:

“But that’s absurd! You’ll be saying next that my father was never murdered at all!”

“He was murdered all right,” said Superintendent Sugden. “There’s no doubt about that.”

The chief constable⁴ cleared his throat and took up the questioning.

“Just where were you, Mr. Lee, at the time of the crime?”

“I was in the dining room. It was just after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this room. I had justfinished telephoning.”

“You had been telephoning?”

“Yes. I had put a call through to the Conservative agent in Westeringham—my constituency.

Some urgent matters.”

“And it was after that that you heard the scream?”

George Lee gave a slight shiver.

“Yes, very unpleasant. It—er—froze my marrow⁵. It died away in a kind of choke or gurgle.”

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead where the perspiration⁶ had broken out.

“Terrible business,” he muttered.

“And then you hurried upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see your brothers, Mr. Alfred and Mr. Harry⁷ Lee?”

“No, they must have gone up just ahead of me, I think.”

“When did you last see your father, Mr. Lee?”

“This afternoon. We were all up there.”

“You did not see him after that?”

“No.”

The chief constable paused, then he said:

“Were you aware that your father kept a quantity of valuable uncut diamonds in the safe inhis bedroom?”

George Lee nodded.

“A most unwise procedure,” he said pompously⁸. “I often told him so. He might have beenmurdered for them—I mean—that is to say—”

Colonel Johnson cut in: “Are you aware that these stones have disappeared?”

George’s jaw⁹ dropped. His protuberant¹⁰ eyes stared.

“Then he was murdered for them?”

The chief constable said slowly:

“He was aware of their loss and reported it to the police some hours before his death.”

George said:

“But, then—I don’t understand—I— .?.?.”

Hercule Poirot said gently:

“We, too, do not understand. .?.?.”

 

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