Chapter Six #2
“This is praise indeed from a professional writer!” Sakari laughed again. “‘Well put’ I understand, though it is a rather odd idiom, is it not? I can see it is time for me to take another course in the English language that I think I know so well.”
“You do know—and speak—it very well, Sakari,” Melanie assured her.
“Well enough for most occasions, but always I strive to learn. I have not yet learnt the names of the victims, Daisy. Perhaps I shall be the one to supply the missing link.”
“That would be an unexpected development! I can just imagine what Superintendent Crane would say. He’d be certain to find a reason to blame me, though for what, I can’t imagine.
Luckily, it seems extremely unlikely. Let’s see, there’s Vincent Halliday, son of Sir Something Halliday. A friend of yours?”
“No, alas. I have never heard the name. Nor do I recall ever meeting a Mrs. Halliday, nor a Lady Halliday, and as a diplomat’s wife I have cultivated an excellent memory for names.”
“Colonel—what was it?—Pelham, that’s it. If Alec told me his given name, I’ve forgotten it.”
“I have met a gentleman by this name, who works in the India Office, but he is not a colonel.”
“A retired colonel at that. How old is your Pelham?”
“I find it difficult to judge with Europeans, but I should guess, about my own age.”
“And how old is that?”
“Daisy, Daisy, have you not heard that one should never ask a woman her age?” Sakari shook her head in mock reproof.
“I want to know his age, not yours,” Daisy retorted. Late thirties or fortyish, she thought, ten or twelve years older than herself. “In any case, you’re not nearly old enough to be a retired colonel. It can’t be the same man. What about Martin Devine?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Melanie.
“Mel, don’t tell me you know him?”
“It must be a different person. Surely it’s not such an uncommon name.”
“Martin isn’t, but I wouldn’t say Devine is particularly common, and the two combined … Alec told me where they all lived. Devine was Guildford, I think. A solicitor.”
“Oh!”
“It is the same man?”
“It must be. Daisy, how awful!” Melanie’s face, turned back towards them, was pale with distress.
“Oh dear, was he a good friend?”
“No, thank heaven. Robert’s parents live in Guildford, you know. We met Mr. Devine when we were visiting them. At a tennis party, I think, and a sherry morning. Bridge, perhaps. That sort of occasion.”
“What was he like?” Sakari asked.
“I don’t remember him particularly. Quite ordinary, I suppose. Agreeable.”
“Agreeable?” said Daisy. “Not someone you’d expect to get involved in a quarrel?”
“Not at all. He was friendly but quite diffident. The kind of person who always falls in with other people’s proposals even if he’s just made a contrary suggestion.”
“You see how much you can remember if you try?” Daisy was terribly tempted to ask whether Mel knew what Devine had done in the War. She resisted. Mel might not draw any inference, but it would most certainly dawn on Sakari that the question was relevant to Alec’s case.
“Mr. Devine sounds like a most improbable person to be murdered,” Sakari observed. “Was he married?”
“N-no, I don’t think so. I didn’t meet a wife. And that’s really all I know, and I’m getting a crick in my neck, so can we please stop talking about it?”
“Of course. Shall I tell you about our researches, Daisy’s and mine, into the interesting places to take the children in Saffron Walden? You need not turn your head to listen. I shall not take offence at speaking to the back of your neck.”
Melanie agreed. Whether she listened or not, Daisy was not aware. Her own thoughts were puzzling over what motive anyone could possibly have for murdering an agreeable, diffident solicitor. Perhaps he knew about a will someone wanted kept secret?
Suppose Colonel Pelham had for some reason left all his worldly wealth to Vincent Halliday, instead of to his own offspring.
In such a case, he might very well have decided to keep the will secret.
And he might very well have let the information slip, including the name of his lawyer—in a fit of temper, perhaps.
His widow had seemed to Alec to be relieved that he was gone for good, which might be explained by a filthy temper.
Could Sakari’s acquaintance at the India Office be his son and have killed him? It would be too neat a dénouement for words, guaranteed to infuriate Mr. Crane if he found out the connection with two of Daisy’s friends!
But having decided, for whatever reason, to disinherit his son, why should Pelham make Halliday his heir?
The only answer Daisy could think of was that Halliday had saved the colonel’s life in the War.
And an excellent answer it was, bringing everything back to her suggestion that the victims’ war service might usefully be investigated.
She considered her structure with satisfaction, then suddenly realised its fatal flaw. Pelham had died first. Devine would have produced his will …
No, he wouldn’t! No one but the murderer knew the colonel was dead. When someone disappeared, didn’t one have to wait several years for a legal presumption of death? She rather thought so.
It was awfully risky for young Pelham to have waited several months to kill Devine. And even when he was safely out of the way, someone at his firm would take over his clients. Sooner or later, the will would come to light.
Blast! said Daisy to herself, as her house of cards came tumbling down. All the same, she’d mention her construction to Alec next time she saw him, if he hadn’t solved the case by then. Perhaps it might put him on the right track.