After the Funeral

Inspector Morton looked up sharply. ‘I thought you said that Mrs Lansquenet’s source of income was an allowance made to her by her brother and that as far as you knew she had no property or means of her own.’

‘That is so. Her husband died a bankrupt, and from what I knew of her as a girl and since, I should be surprised if she had ever saved or accumulated any money.

‘The cottage itself is rented, not her own, and the few sticks of furniture aren’t anything to write home about, even in these days. Some spurious “cottage oak” and some arty painted stuff. Whoever she’s left them to won’t gain much – if she’s made a will, that is to say.’

Mr Entwhistle shook his head.

‘I know nothing about her will. I had not seen her for many years, you must understand.’

‘Then, what exactly did you mean just now? You had something in mind, I think?’

‘Yes. Yes, I did. I wished to be strictly accurate.’

‘Were you referring to the legacy you mentioned? The one that her brother left her? Had she the power to dispose of that by will?’

‘No, not in the sense you mean. She had no power to dispose of the capital. Now that she is dead, it will be divided amongst the five other beneficiaries of Richard Abernethie’s will. That is what I meant. All five of them will benefit automatically by her death.’

The Inspector looked disappointed.

‘Oh, I thought we were on to something. Well, there certainly seems no motive there for anyone to come and swipe her with a hatchet. Looks as though it’s some chap with a screw loose – one of these adolescent criminals, perhaps – a lot of them about. And then he lost his nerve and bushed the trinkets and ran . . . Yes, it must be that. Unless it’s the highly respectable Miss Gilchrist, and I must say that seems unlikely.’

‘When did she find the body?’

‘Not until just about five o’clock. She came back from Reading by the 4.50 bus. She arrived back at the cottage, let herself in by the front door, and went into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. There was no sound from Mrs Lansquenet’s room, but Miss Gilchrist assumed that she was still sleeping. Then Miss Gilchrist noticed the kitchen window; the glass was all over the floor. Even then, she thought at first it might have been done by a boy with a ball or a catapult. She went upstairs and peeped very gently into Mrs Lansquenet’s room to see if she were asleep or if she was ready for some tea. Then of course, she let loose, shrieked, and rushed down the lane to the nearest neighbour. Her story seems perfectly consistent and there was no trace of blood in her room or in the bathroom, or on her clothes. No. I don’t think Miss Gilchrist had anything to do with it. The doctor got there at half-past five. He puts the time of death not later than four-thirty – and probably much nearer two o’clock, so it looks as though whoever it was, was hanging round waiting for Miss Gilchrist to leave the cottage.’

The lawyer’s face twitched slightly. Inspector Morton went on: ‘You’ll be going to see Miss Gilchrist, I suppose?’

‘I thought of doing so.’

‘I should be glad if you would. She’s told us, I think, everything that she can, but you never know. Sometimes, in conversation, some point or other may crop up. She’s a trifle old maidish – but quite a sensible, practical woman – and she’s really been most helpful and efficient.’

He paused and then said:

‘The body’s at the mortuary. If you would like to see it –’

Mr Entwhistle assented, though with no enthusiasm.

Some few minutes later he stood looking down at the mortal remains of Cora Lansquenet. She had been savagely attacked and the henna dyed fringe was clotted and stiffened with blood. Mr Entwhistle’s lips tightened and he looked away queasily.

Poor little Cora. How eager she had been the day before yesterday to know whether her brother had left her anything. What rosy anticipations she must have had of the future. What a lot of silly things she could have done – and enjoyed doing – with the money.

Poor Cora . . . How short a time those anticipations had lasted.

No one had gained by her death – not even the brutal assailant who had thrust away those trinkets as he fled. Five people had a few thousands more of capital – but the capital they had already received was probably more than sufficient for them. No, there could be no motive there.

Funny that murder should have been running in Cora’s mind the very day before she herself was murdered.

‘He was murdered, wasn’t he?’

Such a ridiculous thing to say. Ridiculous! Quite ridiculous! Much too ridiculous to mention to Inspector Morton.

Of course, after he had seen Miss Gilchrist . . .

Supposing that Miss Gilchrist, although it was unlikely, could throw any light on what Richard had said to Cora.

‘I thought from what he said –’ What had Richard said?

‘I must see Miss Gilchrist at once,’ said Mr Entwhistle to himself.

III

Miss Gilchrist was a spare faded-looking woman with short, iron-grey hair. She had one of those indeterminate faces that women around fifty so often acquire.

She greeted Mr Entwhistle warmly.

‘I’m so glad you have come, Mr Entwhistle. I really know so little about Mrs Lansquenet’s family, and of course I’ve never, never had anything to do with a murder before. It’s too dreadful!’

Mr Entwhistle felt quite sure that Miss Gilchrist had never before had anything to do with murder. Indeed, her reaction to it was very much that of his partner.

‘One reads about them, of course,’ said Miss Gilchrist, relegating crimes to their proper sphere. ‘And even that I’m not very fond of doing. So sordid, most of them.’

Following her into the sitting-room Mr Entwhistle was looking sharply about him. There was a strong smell of oil paint. The cottage was overcrowded, less by furniture, which was much as Inspector Morton had described it, than by pictures. The walls were covered with pictures, mostly very dark and dirty oil paintings. But there were water-colour sketches as well, and one or two still lifes. Smaller pictures were stacked on the window-seat.

‘Mrs Lansquenet used to buy them at sales,’ Miss Gilchrist explained. ‘It was a great interest to her, poor dear. She went to all the sales round about. Pictures go so cheap, nowadays, a mere song. She never paid more than a pound for any of them, sometimes only a few shillings, and there was a wonderful chance, she always said, of picking up something worth while. She used to say that this was an Italian Primitive that might be worth a lot of money.’

Mr Entwhistle looked at the Italian Primitive pointed out to him dubiously. Cora, he reflected, had never really known anything about pictures. He’d eat his hat if any of these daubs were worth a five pound note!

‘Of course,’ said Miss Gilchrist, noticing his expression, and quick to sense his reaction, ‘I don’t know much myself, though my father was a painter – not a very successful one, I’m afraid. But I used to do water-colours myself as a girl and I heard a lot of talk about painting and that made it nice for Mrs Lansquenet to have someone she could talk to about painting and who’d understand. Poor dear soul, she cared so much about artistic things.’

‘You were fond of her?’

A foolish question, he told himself. Could she possibly answer ‘no’? Cora, he thought, must have been a tiresome woman to live with.

‘Oh yes,’ said Miss Gilchrist. ‘We got on very well together. In some ways, you know, Mrs Lansquenet was just like a child. She said anything that came into her head. I don’t know that her judgement was always very good –’

One does not say of the dead – ‘She was a thoroughly silly woman’ – Mr Entwhistle said, ‘She was not in any sense an intellectual woman.’

‘No – no – perhaps not. But she was very shrewd, Mr Entwhistle. Really very shrewd. It quite surprised me sometimes – how she managed to hit the nail on the head.’

Mr Entwhistle looked at Miss Gilchrist with more interest. He thought that she was no fool herself.

‘You were with Mrs Lansquenet for some years, I think?’

‘Three and a half.’

‘You – er – acted as companion and also did the – er – well – looked after the house?’

It was evident that he had touched on a delicate subject. Miss Gilchrist flushed a little.