style="font-size:15px;"> ‘And that other case – a retired nurse – that was a hatchet or an axe – just like Aunt Cora.’
‘Dear me, you appear to have made quite a study of these crimes, Susan,’ said Mr Entwhistle mildly.
‘Naturally one remembers these things – and when someone in one’s own family is killed – and in very much the same way – well, it shows that there must be a lot of these sorts of people going round the countryside, breaking into places and attacking lonely women – and that the police just don’t bother!’
Mr Entwhistle shook his head.
‘Don’t belittle the police, Susan. They are a very shrewd and patient body of men – persistent, too. Just because it isn’t still mentioned in the newspapers doesn’t mean that a case is closed. Far from it.’
‘And yet there are hundreds of unsolved crimes every year.’
‘Hundreds?’ Mr Entwhistle looked dubious. ‘A certain number, yes. But there are many occasions when the police know who has committed a crime but where the evidence is insufficient for a prosecution.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Susan. ‘I believe if you knew definitely who committed a crime you could always get the evidence.’
‘I wonder now.’ Mr Entwhistle sounded thoughtful. ‘I very much wonder . . .’
‘Have they any idea at all – in Aunt Cora’s case – of who it might be?’
‘That I couldn’t say. Not as far as I know. But they would hardly confide in me – and it’s early days yet – the murder took place only the day before yesterday, remember.’
‘It’s definitely got to be a certain kind of person,’ Susan mused. ‘A brutal, perhaps slightly half-witted type – a discharged soldier or a gaol bird. I mean, using a hatchet like that.’
Looking slightly quizzical, Mr Entwhistle raised his eyebrows and murmured:
‘Lizzie Borden with an axe
Gave her father fifty whacks.
When she saw what she had done
She gave her mother fifty-one.’
‘Oh,’ Susan flushed angrily, ‘Cora hadn’t got any relations living with her – unless you mean the companion. And anyway Lizzie Borden was acquitted. Nobody knows for certain she killed her father and stepmother.’
‘The rhyme is quite definitely libellous,’ Mr Entwhistle agreed.
‘You mean the companion did do it? Did Cora leave her anything?’
‘An amethyst brooch of no great value and some sketches of fishing villages of sentimental value only.’
‘One has to have a motive for murder – unless one is half-witted.’
Mr Entwhistle gave a little chuckle.
‘As far as one can see, the only person who had a motive is you, my dear Susan.’
‘What’s that?’ Greg moved forward suddenly. He was like a sleeper coming awake. An ugly light showed in his eyes. He was suddenly no longer a negligible feature in the background. ‘What’s Sue got to do with it? What do you mean – saying things like that?’
Susan said sharply:
‘Shut up, Greg. Mr Entwhistle doesn’t mean anything –’
‘Just my little joke,’ said Mr Entwhistle apologetically. ‘Not in the best taste, I’m afraid. Cora left her estate, such as it was, to you, Susan. But to a young lady who has just inherited several hundred thousand pounds, an estate, amounting at the most to a few hundreds, can hardly be said to represent a motive for murder.’
‘She left her money to me?’ Susan sounded surprised. ‘How extraordinary. She didn’t even know me! Why did she do it, do you think?’
‘I think she had heard rumours that there had been a little difficulty – er – over your marriage.’ Greg, back again at sharpening his pencil, scowled. ‘There had been a certain amount of trouble over her own marriage – and I think she experienced a fellow feeling.’
Susan asked with a certain amount of interest:
‘She married an artist, didn’t she, whom none of the family liked? Was he a good artist?’
Mr Entwhistle shook his head very decidedly.
‘Are there any of his paintings in the cottage?’
‘Yes.’
Then I shall judge for myself,’ said Susan.
Mr Entwhistle smiled at the resolute tilt of Susan’s chin.
‘So be it. Doubtless I am an old fogey and hopelessly old-fashioned in matters of art, but I really don’t think you will dispute my verdict.’
‘I suppose I ought to go down there, anyway? And look over what there is. Is there anybody there now?’
‘I have arranged with Miss Gilchrist to remain there until further notice.’
Greg said: ‘She must have a pretty good nerve – to stay in a cottage where a murder’s been committed.’
‘Miss Gilchrist is quite a sensible woman, I should say. Besides,’ added the lawyer drily, ‘I don’t think she has anywhere else to go until she gets another situation.’
‘So Aunt Cora’s death left her high and dry? Did she – were she and Aunt Cora – on intimate terms –?’
Mr Entwhistle looked at her rather curiously, wondering just what exactly was in her mind.
‘Moderately so, I imagine,’ he said. ‘She never treated Miss Gilchrist as a servant.’
‘Treated her a damned sight worse, I dare say,’ said Susan. ‘These wretched so called “ladies” are the ones who get it taken out of them nowadays. I’ll try and find her a decent post somewhere. It won’t be difficult. Anyone who’s willing to do a bit of housework and cook is worth their weight in gold – she does cook, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh yes. I gather it is something she called, er “the rough” that she objected to. I’m afraid I don’t quite know what “the rough” is.’
Susan appeared to be a good deal amused.
Mr Entwhistle, glancing at his watch, said:
‘Your aunt left Timothy her executor.’
‘Timothy,’ said Susan with scorn. ‘Uncle Timothy is practically a myth. Nobody ever sees him.’
‘Quite.’ Mr Entwhistle glanced at his watch. ‘I am travelling up to see him this afternoon. I will acquaint him with your decision to go down to the cottage.’
‘It
