They Do It With Mirrors - Christie Agatha (читать хорошую книгу полностью txt) 📗

'In the drawer in my room.' 'Who knew that you kept it there?' 'I wouldn't know who knows what in this house.' 'What do you mean by that, Mr Hudd?' 'Aw, they're all nuts?

'When you came into the Hall, was everybody else there?' 'What d'you mean by everybody?' 'The same people who were there when you went to repair the fuse.' 'Gina was there… and the old lady with white hair and Miss Bellever… I didn't notice particularly - but I should say so.' 'Mr Gulbrandsen arrived quite unexpectedly the day before yesterday, did he not?' 'I guess so. It wasn't his usual routine, I understand.' 'Did anyone seem upset by his arrival?' Walter Hudd took a moment or two before he answered: 'Why no, I wouldn't say so.' Once more there was a touch of caution in his manner.

'Have you any idea why he came?' 'Their precious Gulbrandsen Trust I suppose. The whole set-up here is crazy.' 'You have these "set-ups" as you call it, in the States.' 'It's one thing to endow a scheme, and another to give it the personal touch as they do here. I had enough of psychiatrists in the Army. This place is stiff with them.

Teaching young thugs to make raffia baskets and carve pipe-racks. Kids' games! It's sissy?

Inspector Curry did not comment on this criticism.

Possibly he agreed with it.

He said, eying Walter carefully:

'So you have no idea who could have killed Mr Gulbrandsen?' 'One of the bright boys from the College practising his technique, I'd say.' 'No, Mr Hudd, that's out. The College, in spite of its carefully produced atmosphere of freedom, is none the less a place of detention and is run on those lines. Nobody can run in and out of it after dark and commit murders.' 'I wouldn't put it past them! Well - if you want to fix it nearer home, I'd say your best bet was Alex Restarick.' 'Why do you say that?' 'He had the opportunity. He drove up through the grounds alone in his car.' 'And why should he kill Christian Gulbrandsen?' Walter shrugged his shoulders.

'I'm a stranger. I don't know the family setups.

Maybe the old boy had heard something about Alex and was going to spill the beans to the Serrocolds.' 'With what results?' 'They might cut off the dough. He can use dough uses a good deal of it by all accounts.' 'You mean - in theatrical enterprises?' 'That's what he calls it?' 'Do you suggest it was otherwise?' Again Walter Hudd shrugged his shoulders.

'I wouldn't know,' he said.

Chapter 13

Alex Restarick was voluble. He also gestured with his hands.

'I know, I know! I'm the ideal suspect. I drive down here alone and on the way to the house, I get a creative fit, I can't expect you to understand. How should you?' 'I might,' Curry put in drily, but Alex Restarick swept on.

'It's just one of those things! They come upon you there's no knowing when or how. An effect - an idea and everything else goes to the winds! I'm producing Limehouse Nights next month. Suddenly - last night - the set-up was wonderful… The perfect lighting. Fog -and the headlights cutting through the fog and being thrown back - and reflecting dimly a tall pile of buildings.

Everything helped! The shots - the running footsteps and the chug-chugging of the electric power engine could have been a launch on the Thames. And I thought - that's it - but what am I going to use to get just these effects? - and ' Inspector Curry broke in.

'You heard shots? Where?' 'Out of the fog, Inspector.' Alex waved his hands in the air - plump well-kept hands. 'Out of the fog. That was the wonderful part about it.' 'It didn't occur to you that anything was wrong?' 'Wrong? Why should it?' 'Are shots such a usual occurrence?'

'Ah, I knew you wou!dn't understand! The shots fitted into the scene I was creating. I wanted shots. Danger opium - crazy business. What did I care what they were really? Backfires from a lorry on the road? A poacher after rabbits?' 'They snare rabbits mostly round here.' Alex swept on: 'A child letting off fireworks? I didn't even think about them as - shots. I was in Limehouse - or rather at the back of the stalls - looking at Limehouse.' 'How many shots?' 'I don't know,' said Alex petulantly. 'Two or three.

Two close together, I do remember that.' Inspector Curry nodded.

'And the sound of running footsteps, I think you said?

Where were they?' 'They came to me out of the fog. Somewhere near the house.' Inspector Curry said gently: 'That would suggest that the murderer of Christian Gulbrandsen came from outside.' 'Of course. Why not? You don't really suggest, do you, that he came from inside the house?' Still very gently Inspector Curry said: 'We have to think of everything.' 'I suppose so,' said Alex Restarick generously. 'What a soul-destroying job yours must be, Inspector! The details, the times and places, the pettifogging pettiness of it. And in the end - what good is it all? Does.it bring the wretched Christian Gulbrandsen back to life?' 'There's quite a satisfaction in getting your man, Mr Restarick.' 'The Wild Western touch!'

'Did you know Mr Gulbrandsen well?' 'Not well enough to murder him, Inspector. I had met him, off and on, since I lived here as a boy. He made brief appearances from time to time. One of our captains of industry. The type does not interest me. He has quite a collection, I believe, of Thorwaldsen's statuary -' Alex shuddered. 'That speaks for itself, does it not? My God, these rich men!' Inspector Curry eyed him meditatively. Then he said: 'Do you take any interest in poisons, Mr Restarick?' 'In poisons? My dear man, he was surely not poisoned first and shot afterwards. That would be too madly detective story.' 'He was not poisoned. But you haven't answered my question.' 'Poison has a certain appeal… It has not the crudeness of the revolver bullet or the blunt weapon. I have no special knowledge of the subject, if that is what you me an. ' 'Have you ever had arsenic in your possession?' 'In sandwiches - after the show? The idea has its allurements. You don't know Rose Glidon? These actresses who think they have a name! No I have never thought of arsenic. One extracts it from weed killer or flypapers, I believe.' 'How often are you down here, Mr Restarick?' 'It varies, Inspector. Sometimes not for several weeks.

But I try to get down for weekends whenever I can. I always regard Stonygates as my true home.' 'Mrs Serrocold has encouraged you to do so?' 'What I owe Mrs Serrocold can ney. er be repaid.

Sympathy, understanding, affection ' 'And quite a lot of solid cash as well, I believe?'

Alex looked faintly disgusted.

'She treats me as a son, and she has belief in my work.' 'Has she ever spoken to you about her will?' 'Certainly. But may I ask what is the point of all these questions, Inspector? There is nothing wrong with Mrs Serroc01d.'

'There had better not be,' said Inspector Curry grimly.

'Now what can you possibly mean by that?'

'If you don't know, so much the better,' said Inspector Curry. 'And if you do - I'm warning you.'

When Alex had gone Sergeant Lake said: 'Pretty bogus, would you say?' Curry shook his head.

'Difficult to say. He may have genuine creative talent.

He may just like living soft and talking big. One doesn't know. Heard running footsteps, did he? I'd be prepared to bet he made that up.'

'For any particular reason?'

'Definitely for a particular reason. We haven't come to it yet, but we will.'

'After all, sir, one of those smart lads may have got out of the College buildings unbeknownst. Probably a few cat burglars amongst them, and if so -'

'That's what we're meant to think. Very convenient.

But if that's so, Lake, I'll eat my new soft hat.' II 'I was at the piano,' said Stephen Restarick. 'I'd been strumming softly when the row blew up. Between Lewis and Edgar.'

'What did you think of it?' 'Well - to tell the truth I didn't really take it seriously.