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‘It’s rather sad, really, the way one never appreciates a person till he’s dead,’ she said. ‘Oh, I do think it was truly adroit of him, don’t you, Ermyntrude darling? Do you suppose it had anything to do with his being murdered?’
‘Even if it were true, why should it have?’ asked Hugh.
‘Oh, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we discovered it was all part of some colossal plot, and wholly tortuous and incredible.’
‘Then the sooner you get rid of that idea the better!’
She looked at him through the sweep of her lashes. ‘Fusty!’ she said gently.
Hugh was annoyed. ‘I’m not in the least fusty, but—’
‘And dusty, and rolled up with those disgusting mothballs.’
‘Ducky, don’t be rude!’ said Ermyntrude, quite shocked.
‘Well, he reminds me of greenfly, and blight, and frost in May, and old clothes, and—’
‘Anything else?’ inquired Hugh, with an edge to his voice.
‘Yes, lots of things. Cabbages, and fire-extinguishers, and—’
‘Would you by any chance like to know what you remind me of ?’ said Hugh, descending ignobly to a tu quoque! form of argument.
‘No, thank you,’ said Vicky sweetly.
Hugh could not help grinning at this simple method of spiking his guns, but Ermyntrude, who thought him a very nice young man, was for once almost cross with her daughter, and commanded her to remember her manners. ‘One thing’s certain,’ she said, reverting to the original topic of discussion, ‘I shall ask that Harold White just what he wanted with Wally yesterday!’
‘Yes, but ought I to say anything to the Inspector?’ said Mary.
‘I don’t think I would,’ said Hugh. ‘Unless, of course, you find that your theory is correct. Frankly, I doubt whether he’d believe such a tale.’
‘No, I don’t think he would,’ agreed Vicky. ‘He’s got a petrified kind of mind which reminds me frightfully of someone, only I can’t remember who it is, for the moment.’
‘Me,’ said Hugh cheerfully.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’re right!’ said Vicky.
‘I’m ashamed of you, Vicky!’ said Ermyntrude.
Mary echoed this statement a few minutes later, when she accompanied Hugh to his car, but he only laughed and said he rather enjoyed Vicky’s antics.
‘You don’t have to live with her,’ said Mary.
‘No, I admit it’s tough on you. Seriously, Mary, do you believe that your extraordinary cousin really did make up that blackmailing story?’
‘It’s a dreadful thing to say, but I can’t help seeing that it would be just like him,’ replied Mary.
Harold White, to whom Janet faithfully delivered Ermyntrude’s message, walked over to Palings after dinner. The party he disturbed was not an entirely happy one, for the Prince, who did not believe in letting grass grow under his feet, had been interrupted at the beginning of a promising tête-à-tête with his hostess, by the entrance into the room of Vicky and Mary. This naturally put an end to his projected tender passages, and he was annoyed when he discovered that neither lady seemed to have the least intention of leaving him alone with Ermyntrude. Mary sat down with a tea-cloth which she was embroidering, an occupation, which, however meritorious in itself, the Prince found depressing; and Vicky (in a demure black taffeta frock with puff sleeves) chose to enact the role of innocent little daughter, sinking down on to a floor cushion at her mother’s feet, and leaning her head confidingly against Ermyntrude’s knees. As she had previously told Mary that she thought it was time she awoke the mother-complex in Ermyntrude, Mary had no difficulty in recognising the tactics underlying this touching pose. The Prince, of course, could not be expected to realise that this display of daughterly affection was part of a plot to undo him, but he very soon became aware of a change in an atmosphere which had been extremely propitious. He made the best of it, for it was part of his stock-in-trade to adapt himself gracefully to existing conditions, but Mary surprised a very unamiable look on his face when she happened to glance up once, and saw him watching Vicky.
When Harold White came in, maternal love gave place to palpable hostility. Ermyntrude cut short his speech of condolence, by saying: ‘I’m sure it’s very kind of you to spare the time to come and see me, Mr White. I hope it wasn’t asking too much of you!’
‘Oh, not a bit of it! Only too glad!’ responded White, drawing up a chair. ‘Poor old Wally! Dreadful business, isn’t it? The house doesn’t seem the same without him.’
‘I dare say it doesn’t,’ said Ermyntrude. ‘But what I want to know, Mr White, is what Wally was doing at your place yesterday.’
He looked slightly taken aback. ‘Doing there? What do you mean? He wasn’t doing anything.’
‘What did he go for?’ demanded Ermyntrude.
