XII

David Lee had himself well in hand. His demeanour was calm—almost unnaturally¹ so. He cameup to them, drew a chair forward and sat down, looking with grave interrogation at ColonelJohnson.

The electric light touched the fair peak of hair that grew on his forehead and showed up thesensitive modelling of the cheek bones. He looked absurdly young to be the son of that shrivelledold man who lay dead upstairs.

“Yes, gentlemen,” he said, “what can I tell you?”

Colonel Johnson said:

“I understand, Mr. Lee, that there was a kind of family meeting held in your father’s roomthis afternoon?”

“There was. But it was quite informal. I mean, it was not a family council or anything of thatkind.”

“What took place there?”

David Lee answered calmly:

“My father was in a difficult mood. He was an old man and an invalid², of course, one had tomake allowances for him. He seemed to have assembled us there in order to—well—vent his spiteupon us.”

“Can you remember what he said?”

David said quietly:

“It was really all rather foolish. He said we were no use—any of us—that there wasn’t asingle man in the family! He said Pilar (that is my Spanish niece) was worth two of any of us. Hesaid—” David stopped.

Poirot said:

“Please, Mr. Lee, the exact words, if you can.”

David said reluctantly:

“He spoke³ rather coarsely—said he hoped that somewhere in the world he had better sons—even if they were born the wrong side of the blanket. .?.?.”

His sensitive face showed distaste for the words he was repeating. Superintendent⁴ Sugdenlooked up, suddenly alert. Leaning forward, he said:

“Did your father say anything in particular to your brother, Mr. George Lee?”

“To George? I don’t remember. Oh, yes, I believe he told him he would have to cut downexpenses in future; he’d have to reduce his allowance. George was very upset, got as red as aturkey cock. He spluttered and said he couldn’t possibly manage with less. My father said quitecoolly that he’d have to. He said he’d better get his wife to help him economize⁵. Rather a nastydig, that — George has always been the economical one — saves and stints⁶ on every penny.

Magdalene, I fancy, is a bit of a spender—she has extravagant⁷ tastes.”

Poirot said:

“So that she, too, was annoyed?”

“Yes. Besides, my father worded something else rather crudely—mentioned her as havinglived with a naval⁸ officer. Of course he really meant her father, but it sounded rather dubious⁹.

Magdalene went scarlet¹⁰. I don’t blame her.”

Poirot said:

“Did your father mention his late wife, your mother?”

The red blood ran in waves up David’s temples. His hands clenched¹¹ themselves on the tablein front of him, trembling slightly.

He said in a low choked voice:

“Yes, he did. He insulted her.”

Colonel Johnson said:

“What did he say?”

David said abruptly¹²:

“I don’t remember. Just some slighting reference.”

Poirot said softly:

“Your mother has been dead some years?”

David said shortly:

“She died when I was a boy.”

“She was not—perhaps—very happy in her life here?”

David gave a scornful laugh:

“Who could be happy with a man like my father? My mother was a saint. She died abrokenhearted woman.”

Poirot went on:

“Your father was, perhaps, distressed¹³ by her death?”

David said abruptly:

“I don’t know. I left home.”

He paused and then said:

“Perhaps you may not be aware of the fact that when I came on this visit I had not seen myfather for nearly twenty years. So you see I can’t tell you very much about his habits or hisenemies or what went on here.”

Colonel Johnson asked:

“Did you know that your father kept a lot of valuable diamonds in the safe in his bedroom?”

David said indifferently:

“Did he? Seems a foolish sort of thing to do.”

Johnson said:

“Will you describe briefly¹⁴ your own movements last night?”

“Mine? Oh, I went away from the dinner table fairly quickly. It bores me, this sitting roundover port. Besides, I could see that Alfred and Harry¹⁵ were working up for a quarrel. I hate rows. Islipped away and went to the music room and played the piano.”

Poirot asked:

“The music room, it is next to the drawing room, is it not?”

“Yes. I played there for some time—till—till the thing happened.”

“What did you hear exactly?”

“Oh! A far-off noise of furniture being overturned somewhere upstairs. And then a prettyghastly cry.” He clenched his hands again. “Like a soul in hell. God, it was awful!”

Johnson said:

“Were you alone in the music room?”

“Eh? No, my wife, Hilda, was there. She’d come in from the drawing room. We—we wentup with the others.”

He added quickly and nervously¹⁶:

“You don’t want me, do you, to describe what—what I saw there?”

Colonel Johnson said:

“No, quite unnecessary. Thank you, Mr. Lee, there’s nothing more. You can’t imagine, Isuppose, who would be likely to want to murder your father?”

David Lee said recklessly:

“I should think—quite a lot of people! I don’t know of anyone definite.”

He went out rapidly, shutting the door loudly behind him.

 

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