“You agreed to that?”
“Well, I…I didn't fight it.
My mother is very persuasive.”
“What was the attitude of your uncle? Mr. Dudley Frost.
The trustee of your property.”
“Oh, I never discussed things like that with him.
But I know what it would have been. He didn't like Perren.”
“And Mr. McNair?”
“He disliked Perren more than I did.
Outwardly they were friends, but…anyway, Uncle Boyd wasn't two-faced.
Shall I tell you…”
“By all means.”
“Well, one day about a year ago Uncle Boyd sent for me to go upstairs to his office, and when I went in Perren was there.
Uncle Boyd was standing up and looking white and determined, I asked him what was the matter, and he said he only wanted to tell me, in Perren's presence, that any influence his friendship and affection might have on me was unalterably opposed to my marriage with Perren.
He said it very…formally, and that wasn't like him.
He didn't ask me to promise or anything.
He just said that and then told me to go.”
“And in spite of that, Mr. Gebert has persisted with his courtship.”
“Of course he has.
Why wouldn't he?
Lots of men have.
I'm so rich it's worth quite an effort.”
“Dear me.” Wolfe's eyes flickered open at her and half shut again. “As cynical as that about it?
But a brave cynicism which is of course proper.
Nothing is more admirable than the fortitude with which millionaires tolerate the disadvantages of their wealth.
What is Mr. Gebert's profession?”
“He hasn't any.
That's one of the things I don't like about him.
He doesn't do anything.”
“Has he an income?”
“I don't know.
Really, I don't know a thing about it.
I suppose he has…I've heard him make vague remarks.
He lives at the Chesebrough, and he drives a car.”
“I know.
Mr. Goodwin informed me he drove it here yesterday.
At all events, a man of courage.
You knew him in Europe; what did he do there?”
“No more than here, as far as I remember-of course I was young then.
He was wounded in the war, and afterwards came to visit us in Spain-that is, my mother, I was only two years old-and he went to Egypt with us a little later, but when we went on to the Orient he went back-”
“One moment, please.” Wolfe was frowning. “Let us tidy up the chronology.
There seems to have been quite a party in Spain; almost Mr. McNair's last words were that he had gone to Spain with his baby daughter.
We'll start when your life started.
You were born, you told me yesterday, in Paris-on May 7th, 1915.
Your father was already in the war, as a member of the British Aviation Corps, and he was killed when you were a few months old.
When did your mother take you to Spain?”
“Early in 1916.
She was afraid to stay in Paris, on account of the war.
We went first to Barcelona and then to Cartagena.
A little later Uncle Boyd and Glenna came down and joined us there.