at all?’
‘I said good morning to him after breakfast as was my custom.’
‘Were you alone with him then?’
‘My—er—stepmother was in the room.’
‘Did he seem quite as usual?’
With a slight hint of irony, Philip replied:
‘He showed no foreknowledge that he was to be murdered that day.’
‘Is your father’s portion of the house entirely separate from this?’
‘Yes, the only access to it is through the door in the hall.’
‘Is that door kept locked?’
‘No.’
‘Never?’
‘I have never known it to be so.’
‘Anyone could go freely between that part of the house and this?’
‘Certainly. It was only separate from the point of view of domestic convenience.’
‘How did you first hear of your father’s death?’
‘My brother Roger, who occupies the west wing of the floor above, came rushing down to tell me that my father had had a sudden seizure. He had difficulty in breathing and seemed very ill.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I telephoned through to the doctor, which nobody seemed to have thought of doing. The doctor was out—but I left a message for him to come as soon as possible. I then went upstairs.’
‘And then?’
‘My father was clearly very ill. He died before the doctor came.’
There was no emotion in Philip’s voice. It was a simple statement of fact.
‘Where was the rest of your family?’
‘My wife was in London. She returned shortly afterwards. Sophia was also absent, I believe. The two younger ones, Eustace and Josephine, were at home.’
‘I hope you won’t misunderstand me, Mr Leonides, if I ask you exactly how your father’s death will affect your financial position.’
‘I quite appreciate that you want to know all the facts. My father made us financially independent a great many years ago. My brother he made chairman and principal shareholder of Associated Catering—his largest company, and put the management of it entirely in his hands. He made over to me what he considered an equivalent sum—actually I think it was a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in various bonds and securities—so that I could use the capital as I chose. He also settled very generous amounts on my two sisters, who have since died.’
‘But he left himself still a very rich man?’
‘No, actually he only retained for himself a comparatively modest income. He said it would give him an interest in life. Since that time’—for the first time a faint smile creased Philip’s lips—‘he has become, as the result of various undertakings, an even richer man than he was before.’
‘Your brother and yourself came here to live. That was not the result of any financial—difficulties?’
‘Certainly not. It was a mere matter of convenience. My father always told us that we were welcome to make a home with him. For various domestic reasons this was a convenient thing for me to do.
‘I was also,’ added Philip deliberately, ‘extremely fond of my father. I came here with my family in 1937. I pay no rent, but I pay my proportion of the rates.’
‘And your brother?’
‘My brother came here as a result of the blitz, when his house in London was bombed in 1943.’
‘Now, Mr Leonides, have you any idea what your father’s testamentary dispositions are?’
‘A very clear idea. He re-made his will in 1946. My father was not a secretive man. He had a great sense of family. He held a family conclave at which his solicitor was also present and who, at his request, made clear to us the terms of the will. These terms I expect you already know. Mr Gaitskill will doubtless have informed you. Roughly, a sum of a hundred thousand pounds free of duty was left to my stepmother in addition to her already very generous marriage settlement. The residue of his property was divided into three portions, one to myself, one to my brother, and a third in trust for the three grandchildren. The estate is a large one, but the death duties, of course, will be very heavy.’
‘Any bequests to servants or to charity?’
‘No bequests of any kind. The wages paid to servants were increased annually if they remained in his service.’
‘You are not—you will excuse my asking—in actual need of money, Mr Leonides?’
‘Income tax, as you know, is somewhat heavy, Chief Inspector—but my income amply suffices for my needs—and for my wife’s. Moreover, my father frequently made us all very generous gifts, and had any emergency arisen, he would have come to the rescue immediately.’
Philip added coldly and clearly:
‘I can assure you that I had no financial reason for desiring my father’s death, Chief Inspector.’
‘I am very sorry, Mr Leonides, if you think I suggested anything of the kind. But we have to get at all the facts. Now I’m afraid I must ask you some rather delicate questions. They refer to the relations between your father and his wife. Were they on happy terms together?’
‘As far as I know, perfectly.’
‘No quarrels?’
‘I do not think so.’
‘There was a—great disparity in age?’
‘There was.’
‘Did you—excuse me—approve of your father’s second marriage?’
‘My approval was not asked.’
‘That is not an answer, Mr Leonides.’
‘Since you press the point, I will say that I considered the marriage unwise.’
‘Did you remonstrate with your father about it?’
‘When I heard of it, it was an accomplished fact.’
‘Rather a shock to you—eh?’
Philip did not reply.
‘Was there any bad feeling about the matter?’
‘My father was at perfect liberty to do as he pleased.’
‘Your relations with Mrs Leonides have been amicable?’
‘Perfectly.’
