“I shouldn’t mind if it did. But, Mr. McKay, they didn’t do it. They couldn’t. Why should they? If they’d wanted to, why wait till now? They’d had him upstairs in bed for three weeks, and for the first week he was pretty bad. This wasn’t the first attack he’d had, either. Surely, if murder had been in their mind, they’d have done it before this, when they had so much better opportunity? If they’d popped him off in his bed, when he was so bad, Dr. Carter would have signed the certificate without a murmur. Well then—why should they wait till yesterday? It doesn’t make sense.”
Ellis inclined his head.
“I’m glad to hear you say that. You put it very forcibly. Now you see just what I mean, when I said that what we needed was a general picture of the situation, and that you were the best possible person to give it to us.”
“Anyone in the village could have told you that much. It’s obvious.”
“I hope you’re going to tell us some more.”
“What more do you want to know?”
“More about the family. Mr. Baildon was very old to have a daughter as young as Joan. How old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Just eighteen. She’s his daughter, all right.”
An ugly smile came over her face. Gilkison inwardly recoiled.
“It never occurred to me that she wasn’t. Did he marry very late, or was she a long time coming?”
“Both. He didn’t want a child. Mrs. Baildon did. She had to have something, poor woman, to make her life endurable. She begged and begged for one. Then—Dr. Carter will be able to tell you more about that than I can.”
“Have you any idea why Mr. Baildon did not want a child?”
“Too mean. Knew it would cost money. He’s grudged every penny spent on that poor child. Look at her eyes.”
“Yes. I heard about that. Had he no sort of affection for her?”
“I’d have said, none whatever.”
“For his wife?”
“She was a convenience. I suppose he valued her that much. I don’t believe he was capable of affection.”
“I understand that, but for the handicap of her sight, Joan would be something of a scholar.”
“She is a scholar. That child has real ability. She’s miles out of the ordinary. If only she’d had a decent chance—— It makes me mad, when I think what she could have done, but for that mingey old swine! She could have done anything. She’d have gone flying into Oxford, or anywhere else, with all the scholarships she wanted. As it is, I believe she’ll get in. But it’s such a shame that she should have to struggle for what’s hers by right.”
“I understand that you have helped her a great deal, Miss Caunter.”
“I’ve done what I could. I only wish I could have done more.”
“And Mr. Rattray, too, has been helping.”
The atmosphere changed instantly. The girl receded. She was once more guarded and wary.
“Yes,” she said. “I believe he has.”
“With her Latin?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t teach Latin, I gather?”
“Not enough to be of any use. I’d have been glad to work at it with her: but there wasn’t the time. And he would be quicker, of course.”
“Well,” Ellis said heartily, “between the two of you, and her regular work at school, she’s getting a grand chance. You’re doing all that can be done to redress the unfair balance against her.”
“It would take a lot to do that.”
“Tell me about this Mr. Rattray.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
Her voice was dry, almost cracked. She took another cigarette. Gilkison lit it for her, bending stiffly down. In the low ceilinged room, his height seemed prodigious, and out of scale.
“I’ll tell you all I do know about him, and you can supplement it in any way you think necessary. I’m told he’s headmaster of the local boys’ school, conscientious, serious-minded, takes Sunday school classes, and has an invalid wife.”
She smiled bleakly.
“From your smile, I take it that, while all those details are correct, they don’t give anything like an accurate portrait.”
She tilted her head back, blew a long cloud of smoke, and watched it dissipate.
“I don’t know that I am the best person to come to for a portrait of Mr. Rattray,” she said.
“Because you are too sympathetic to him, or not sympathetic enough?”
She flushed swiftly and angrily.
“Neither,” she snapped. Then, more normally, “At least—— No. I don’t think——”
“Then——?”
“Only that I think someone else could give you a better picture.”
“What is Joan Baildon’s attitude towards him?”
She started, and looked sharply at him.
“She’s grateful to him, naturally. She has every reason to be. He has taken a lot of trouble, and put up with a great deal of insult and unpleasantness from the old man. But—— Pardon me, I don’t at all see the point of your question? What are you trying to get at?”
“Nothing in particular, Miss Caunter. I’m only trying to build up that general picture we spoke about. Everybody’s relationship to everyone else.”
“I don’t think Joan has any particular attitude to him, beyond what is normal in the circumstances.”
“Quite. Perfectly.” He looked at his notebook. “Just one more thing I want to ask you about Mr. Rattray: which will tell you, by the way, how that question about Joan’s attitude came into my mind. This invalid wife of his: what sort is she?”
Eunice Caunter for a moment looked positively venomous.
“If she wasn’t the sick creature she is, I’d say she was a perfect bitch. I’m not sure I won’t say it anyway.”
“Leads him a dance? Trades on her invalidism?”
“Trades on it in every way she can think of. Keeps him by her side morning, noon, and night. Or would like to. She can’t always, thank God.”
“A jealous type, eh?”
“She has a fit if he as much as looks at anyone else. I’ve seen her even pretend to be taken ill at a children’s Christmas party, so that he’d have to stop enjoying himself and wheel her home.”
“Did she by any chance grudge the time he gave to helping Joan with her lessons?”
“Grudge it I that woman would poison the sunshine.”
“Joan and Mr. Rattray, then, would have a bond in common. They’d each known what it is like to be domineered over by an invalid. That’s what prompted my question just now, about her attitude to him.”
She half rose from her chair, glaring like a fury.
“What are you insinuating?” she cried.
“My dear Miss Caunter, you really must not attach these imaginary meanings to my remarks. I want, as I keep telling you, to get as full a picture of the lives of these people as you can give me. I note that Joan Baildon and her tutor have in common that each has an invalid and tyrannical person in the home. It makes so obvious a link that I ask you whether it has any noticeable effect on their relationship with one another. I’m not insinuating anything. You’re doing it, if anyone is, by flying off the handle at a simple and straightforward question.”
She swallowed down her anger as best she could.
“You’d better ask them,” she said. “I’m not to know what they feel about it. How can I know?”
Ellis shrugged.
“It’s a reason for them to exchange sympathies. You’re Joan’s good friend, and in her confidence. She might easily have spoken to you about Mr. Rattray. She must have done, at one time or another.”
“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Eunice cried, banging her hand on the arm of her chair. “I don’t see what all these questions are for. How can anything that Joan feels about D—about Ursula Rattray have anything to do with old Baildon’s death?”