Behold, Here's Poison Part 17

'My G.o.d!' said Randall in a failing voice. 'My poor ignorant child, have you no discrimination?'

'I don't like rooms to be affected,' replied Stella. 'I call this d.a.m.ned affected.'

Randall said lovingly: 'Shall I now tell you what I think of that hat you are wearing, my precious?'

'As a matter of fact, I know it isn't one of my better efforts,' admitted Stella candidly. 'So you needn't trouble. Where can we talk?'

'In here,' said Randall, leading the way to the library. 'Don't hesitate to say what you think of this room, will you? Your opinion is entirely valueless, but I shouldn't like you to feel constrained to keep it to yourself.'

'Well, I don't mind this room,' said Stella. 'A bit opulent, perhaps, but that's your affair.' She walked over to the fireplace, inspected a bronze figure on the mantelpiece, and said rather haltingly: 'Look here-I-you're probably wondering what on earth I've come here for.'

'Oh no!' said Randall, setting his finger on the bell. 'You have come here because you want me to do something for you. I have few illusions, my pet.'

'No, I don't. Not exactly. At least-Well, I'd better explain.'

'Reserve your explanations until you have removed that hat and powdered your nose,' said Randall.

'I'm not going to remove it. I've only come for a minute.'

'Whether you have come for a minute or for an hour, I decline to sit looking at that utterly discordant atrocity. I did not invite you to my flat, and if you do not care to make yourself presentable you may go away again,' said Randall coolly.

Stella flushed, but took off the offending hat and threw it aside. 'All right, then. You don't lose many opportunities of making yourself objectionable, do you?'

'I endeavour to live up to your expectations, my love,' said Randall. He turned, as Benson came into the room. 'The sherry, Benson. Or do you prefer a c.o.c.ktail, Stella?'

'I don't want either, thanks.'

'Bring the sherry, Benson. And lay for Miss Matthews.'

'Oh, I haven't come to lunch!' said Stella hurriedly.

'Lay for Miss Matthews,' repeated Randall. He picked up the cigarette-box, and offered it to Stella. 'Must you oppose my every suggestion, darling? Or are you afraid of poison?'

'Shut up!' Stella said fiercely. 'We've had enough of that subject! I wish now I hadn't come.'

'Why did you?' he inquired.

She suddenly looked rather forlorn, and said in an undecided voice: 'I don't know. I mean, I had to see either you or Mr Carrington. It's about the money uncle left me.'

'Which you wouldn't touch if you were starving,' said Randall. 'What do you want me to do with it? Found a home for lost cats?'

'No, I don't. I know I said I wouldn't touch it, but I've changed my mind.'

'You've plenty of time to change it again before you're twenty-five,' said Randall.

'Yes, but that's the whole point. I -' She broke off, for Benson had come back into the room with the sherry. When he had set the tray on the table and gone away again, she took a firm grip on her handbag, and said: 'What I want to know is this: if I-if I signed a paper saying I wouldn't marry Deryk Fielding, ever, could I possibly have the money now?'

Randall paused in the act of pouring out the sherry, and raised his head. 'Don't tell me you've quarrelled with the boy friend?' he said.

'No, we haven't quarrelled, but I've decided not to marry him, that's all,' replied Stella curtly.

Randall went on pouring out the sherry. 'I expect you would rather I didn't ask you why,' he remarked. 'But you can't have everything you want, my pet. Why have you come to this momentous decision?'

'Various reasons. For one thing I find I'm-not really-in love with him.'

'And for another you've discovered that he isn't really in love with you. It's nice to see glimmerings of intelligence in you, darling.'

'You're perfectly right,' said Stella, keeping her voice rigidly under control. 'He thought I was going to inherit a lot of money, and when I didn't he cooled off. Have a good laugh: I don't mind. I think it's rather funny myself. Anyway, I'm not breaking my heart over it.'

'Why should you?' said Randall, handing her a gla.s.s. 'Are you expecting me to ooze sympathy?'

'No, I'm not. I didn't come here to talk about Deryk, only to tell you that the engagement's off, and to ask if I can have the money uncle left me.'

'When you're twenty-five, certainly.'

'The whole point is that I want it now,' said Stella.

'Why this sudden need?'

'Because I'm frightfully hard-up, and I want to share a flat with a girl I was at school with, and get something to do. Only I shall probably have to learn shorthand or something first, and if I'm not earning anything I don't quite see how I'm to live. Mother says she can't afford to increase my allowance-besides, she's dead against the idea, anyway-and I haven't got any money of my own, except what uncle left me. Of course, I know the Will said not till I'm twenty-five, but I thought if I signed a paper promising not to marry Deryk, and you and Mr Carrington agreed-because if both the trustees agree you can sort of w.a.n.gle things, can't you?'

'Not to my knowledge. As I haven't the remotest intention of agreeing, the point doesn't arise.'

'Why not?' Stella demanded. 'As long as I sign a paper, what difference can it possibly make? I don't mean I want to blue the capital. All I want is the income from it.'

'You won't get it, my love.'

Stella put down her gla.s.s, and rose. 'Thanks so much!' she said. 'I was a fool to come. I might have known you'd put a spoke in my wheel if you could. But considering what you've inherited, I think you might have been willing to let me have my rotten two thousand!'

'Dear cousin,' said Randall, 'until after Probate I have inherited nothing, and nor have you. After Probate the first charity that meets my eye will get the lot.'

Stella was so surprised that for a moment she could only stare at him. Then she said: 'Rot! I don't believe you!'

Randall laughed. 'I don't suppose you do, my sweet.'

'But why?' she demanded. 'What's the idea?'

He shrugged. 'Oh, I already have enough for my-er-simple needs,' he said.

'Either you're mad or you're up to something,' said Stella with conviction. 'Whoever heard of giving away a whole fortune?'

'Yes, I feel that there's a certain pleasing originality about it,' agreed Randall. 'Have some more sherry?'

She shook her head. 'No thanks. Even you wouldn't do a thing like that for a gesture. Is it to stop people saying that you probably killed uncle because you were hard-up?'

'Do they say so?' inquired Randall. 'I thought that particular theory was confined to the members of my affectionate family. Moreover, I'm not hard-up.'

She said shrewdly: 'It's my belief you know something about uncle's death that we don't.'

'If by that ambiguous remark you mean that you believe I had something to do with uncle's death, I would point out to you, my sweet one, that the last time I saw him was on Sunday, May 12th.'

'I know. And I didn't mean that. I don't see how you could have done it. What does that Superintendent think?'

'He, like you, sweetheart, doesn't see how I could have done it. It disheartens him, I'm afraid.'

'Randall, will they ever find out who did it?'

'Why ask me?' he countered.

'Because you know something. It's no good saying you don't. I don't see how you could have murdered uncle, but I'm certain you're hiding some fact, or clue, or something which you don't want anyone to get hold of. I haven't forgotten that I saw you coming out of uncle's room that day. You were looking for something.'

'I was,' said Randall imperturbably. 'But I didn't find it.'

'What was it?' she asked. 'I don't know.'

'Don't know?'

'Not yet. I was looking for something that might have contained the poison. I admit it was a forlorn hope.'

'I don't think I altogether believe you,' said Stella.

'Well, that doesn't surprise me,' he replied, quite unmoved. 'Shall we talk of something else for a change? I find these eternal and barren discussions on uncle's death begin to pall on one after a time.'

'Mr Rumbold thinks it will fizzle out for want of evidence.'

'Mr Rumbold is probably right. Does he continue to sustain my afflicted aunts in their more anguished moments?'

'He does manage to soothe them,' admitted Stella, with a smile. 'All the same, you needn't sneer at him, Randall: he's been most frightfully decent to us all.'

'I regard him with profound respect,' said Randall.

'I suppose that means you don't.'

'Why you should suppose anything of the sort is quite beyond my comprehension,' said Randall wearily.

'Well, whenever you say something nice about anybody it generally means the reverse,' said Stella.

'Ah, that is only when I am talking about my relations, or other persons of sub-normal intelligence,' said Randall. 'I always respect brain when I meet it.'

'Thanks very much!' said Stella warmly. 'I suppose you would cla.s.s me as a sort of moron?'

'Oh no, not quite,' said Randall. 'I have several times known you actually to think before you spoke. Occasionally you even show signs of a certain quickness of intellect. I admit that during your adolescence I had no hope of you at all, but you've improved a lot, my precious.'

'I am glad,' said. Stella. 'Of course, you've taken such an interest in my progress, haven't you? I expect, if I only knew it, all your visits to the Poplars this last year have been really to see me.'

'Well, I imagine you don't suppose I came to see your mother, do you?'

Stella blinked at him. 'You came to see uncle!'

'Good G.o.d!' said Randall. He took her arm above the elbow, and propelled her towards the door. 'Not one of your intellectual days, my love. Let us go in to lunch.'

Chapter Eleven.

Stella drove herself home to Grinley Heath, profoundly meditating on her cousin Randall's astonishing words. She had received them with surprise and suspicion, and had consequently a.s.sumed a defensive, unapproachable att.i.tude. Randall had made no attempt to pursue the subject, but had taken her in to luncheon, and regaled her on lobster a la Newburgh, and an excellent Chablis. Stella, who had eaten no meals away from the Poplars since her uncle's death, frankly enjoyed herself, and managed to forget the troubles cl.u.s.tering about the family until coffee was brought into the room. Some chance words of Randall's recalled them to her then, and her face clouded, and she said with a sigh that it was beastly having murders in the family, because it was like a black cloud hanging over one.

'Everybody suspects everybody else,' she said. 'And though uncle was horrid to people, it isn't any better in any way now that he's dead. I mean, take me, for instance. Uncle made it practically impossible for me to marry Deryk while he was alive, and that was beastly, but as soon as he died and I could marry Deryk, it all started to go wrong.'

'Now please don't fall into a sickening mood of selfirity,' said Randall dampingly. 'You have been a charming companion during lunch, and not one thought of your late swain has crossed your head. You are not in (lie least heartbroken, so it is no use trying to get me to utter facile expressions of sympathy. I am not even remotely sorry for you.'

'I have eaten your salt,' said Stella with dignity, 'so I can't say what I should like to.'

'Don't let that deter you, my love. I have eaten salt-and very little else-at the Poplars, but it has not so far affected my power of speech.'

Stella watched him make the coffee, and said: 'Well, I wasn't pitying myself, if you want to know. All the same, it gives one a jolt to discover that a person you-you thought you could utterly depend on has-well, feet of clay.'

Randall removed the spirit-lamp from under the machine, and transferred his gaze to Stella's face for a moment. 'Did you really think your amorous doctor would prove a tower of strength in adversity? How trusting girls are!'

'The trouble is there isn't anyone we can turn to,' Stella said. 'Uncle Henry is no use, and Guy isn't old enough, besides being-well, anyway, he's not the type. And Mr Rumbold's all very well, but he isn't like someone in the family; and Owen thinks the whole thing is bad form, and doesn't want to be mixed up in it.'

'And Randall is a snake in the gra.s.s, and would only sneer at you,' said Randall, stirring the coffee in the top of the machine.

Stella looked faintly startled. 'You would too,' she said. 'I wasn't thinking about you, though.'

'Another of your little errors, darling. You had better start thinking about me. I am now the head of this lamentable family.'

'What's that got to do with it?'

'Oh, quite a lot,' said Randall. 'As head of the family I propose to see this thing through.'

'How nice of you!' said Stella. 'That ought to help a lot. I expect if the police take it into their heads to arrest any of us you'll float in like a fairy G.o.dmother and clear up the whole case?'

'Not if they arrest Aunt Gertrude,' said Randall. He poured out the coffee, and handed one cup to Stella. 'For you I might.'

'Give yourself up as the murderer, I should think,' said Stella scornfully.