How dull men are when they decide to settle down!
They lose all their charm.”
“I’ve often wondered why Sir Charles has never married,” said Mr. Satterthwaite.
“My dear, he never showed any signs of wanting to marry.
He wasn’t what they call a marrying man. But he was a very attractive man ... ” She sighed.
A slight twinkle shoed in her eyes as she looked at Mr. Satterthwaite. “He and I were once - well, why deny what everybody knows?
It was very pleasant while it lasted … and we’re still the best of friends.
I suppose that’s the reason the Lytton Gore child looks at me so fiercely.
She suspects I still have a tendresse for Charles.
Have I? Perhaps I have.
But at any rate I haven’t yet written my memoirs describing all my affairs in detail as most of my friends seem to have done.
If I did, you know, the girl wouldn’t like it. She’d be shocked.
Modern girls are easily shocked.
Her mother wouldn’t be shocked at all.
You can’t really shock a sweet mid-Victorian.
They say so little, but always think the worst ... ”
Mr. Satterthwaite contented himself with saying:
“I think you are right in suspecting that Egg Lytton Gore mistrusts you.”
Miss Sutcliffe frowned.
“I’m not at all sure that I’m not a little jealous of her ... We women are such cats, aren’t we?
Scratch, scratch, miauw, miauw, purr, purr ... ” She laughed. “Why didn’t Charles come and catechise me on this business?
Too much nice feeling, I suppose. The man must think me guilty ... Am I guilty, Mr. Satterthwaite? What do you think now?” She stood up and stretched out a hand.
“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand - ” She broke off. “No, I’m not Lady MacBeth.
Comedy’s my line.”
“There seems also a certain lack of motive,” said Mr. Satterthwaite.
“True.
I liked Bartholomew Strange.
We were friends.
I had no reason for wishing him out of the way.
Because we were friends I’d rather like to take an active part in hunting down his murderer.
Tell me if I can help in any way.”
“I suppose, Miss Sutcliffe, you didn’t see or hear anything that might have a bearing on the crime?”
“Nothing that I haven’t already told the police.
The house party had only just arrived, you know. His death occurred on that first evening.”
“The butler?”
“I hardly noticed him.”
“Any peculiar behaviour on the part of the guests?”
“No.
Of course that boy - what’s his name? - Manders turned up rather unexpectedly.”
“Did Sir Bartholomew Strange seem surprised?”
“Yes, I think he was.
He said to me just before we went in to dinner that it was an odd business, ‘a new method of gate crashing,’ he called it.
‘Only,’ he said, ‘it’s my wall he’s crashed, not my gate.’”
“Sir Bartholomew was in good spirits?”
“Very good spirits.”
“What about this secret passage you mentioned to the police?”
“I believe it led out of the library.
Sir Bartholomew promised to show it to me - but of course the poor man died.”
“How did the subject come up?”
“We were discussing a recent purchase of his - an old walnut bureau.