Richard Egerton looked again at the official card in front of him, then up into the Chief-Inspector’s face.
“Curious business,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “a very curious business.”
“Bertram’s Hotel,” said Egerton, “in the fog. Yes it was a bad fog last night. I suppose you get a lot of that sort of thing in fogs, don’t you? Snatch and grab—handbags—that sort of thing?”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” said Father. “Nobody attempted to snatch anything from Miss Blake.”
“Where did the shot come from?”
“Owing to the fog we can’t be sure. She wasn’t sure herself. But we think—it seems the best idea—that the man may have been standing in the area.”
“He shot at her twice, you say?”
“Yes. The first shot missed. The commissionaire rushed along from where he was standing outside the hotel door and shoved her behind him just before the second shot.”
“So that he got hit instead, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Quite a brave chap.”
“Yes. He was brave,” said the Chief-Inspector. “His military record was very good. An Irishman.”
“What’s his name?”
“Gorman. Michael Gorman.”
“Michael Gorman.” Egerton frowned for a minute. “No,” he said. “For a moment I thought the name meant something.”
“It’s a very common name, of course. Anyway, he saved the girl’s life.”
“And why exactly have you come to me, Chief-Inspector?”
“I hoped for a little information. We always like full information, you know, about the victim of a murderous assault.”
“Oh, naturally, naturally. But really, I’ve only seen Elvira twice since she was a child.”
“You saw her when she came to call upon you about a week ago, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s quite right. What exactly do you want to know? If it’s anything about her personality, who her friends were or about boyfriends, or lovers’ quarrels—all that sort of thing—you’d do better to go to one of the women. There’s a Mrs. Carpenter who brought her back from Italy, I believe, and there’s Mrs. Melford with whom she lives in Kent.”
“I’ve seen Mrs. Melford.”
“Oh.”
“No good. Absolutely no good at all, sir. And I don’t so much want to know about the girl personally—after all, I’ve seen her for myself and I’ve heard what she can tell me—or rather what she’s willing to tell me—”
At a quick movement of Egerton’s eyebrows he saw that the other had appreciated the point of the word “willing.”
“I’ve been told that she was worried, upset, afraid about something, and convinced that her life was in danger. Was that your impression when she came to see you?”
“No,” said Egerton, slowly, “no, I wouldn’t go as far as that; though she did say one or two things that struck me as curious.”
“Such as?”
“Well, she wanted to know who would benefit if she were to die suddenly.”
“Ah,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “so she had that possibility in her mind, did she? That she might die suddenly. Interesting.”
“She’d got something in her head but I didn’t know what it was. She also wanted to know how much money she had—or would have when she was twenty-one. That, perhaps, is more understandable.”
“It’s a lot of money I believe.”
“It’s a very large fortune, Chief-Inspector.”
“Why do you think she wanted to know?”
“About the money?”
“Yes, and about who would inherit it.”
“I don’t know,” said Egerton. “I don’t know at all. She also brought up the subject of marriage—”
“Did you form the impression that there was a man in the case?”
“I’ve no evidence—but—yes, I did think just that. I felt sure there was a boyfriend somewhere in the offing. There usually is! Luscombe—that’s Colonel Luscombe, her guardian, doesn’t seem to know anything about a boyfriend. But then dear old Derek Luscombe wouldn’t. He was quite upset when I suggested that there was such a thing in the background and probably an unsuitable one at that.”
“He is unsuitable,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
“Oh. Then you know who he is?”
“I can have a very good guess at it. Ladislaus Malinowski.”
“The racing motorist? Really! A handsome daredevil. Women fall for him easily. I wonder how he came across Elvira. I don’t see very well where their orbits would meet except—yes, I believe he was in Rome a couple of months ago. Possibly she met him there.”
“Very possibly. Or could she have met him through her mother?”
“What, through Bess? I wouldn’t say that was at all likely.”
Davy coughed.
“Lady Sedgwick and Malinowski are said to be close friends, sir.”
“Oh yes, yes, I know that’s the gossip. May be true, may not. They are close friends—thrown together constantly by their way of life. Bess has had her affairs, of course; though, mind you, she’s not the nymphomaniac type. People are ready enough to say that about a woman, but it’s not true in Bess’s case. Anyway, as far as I know, Bess and her daughter are practically not even acquainted with each other.”
“That’s what Lady Sedgwick told me. And you agree?” Egerton nodded.
“What other relatives has Miss Blake got?”
“For all intents and purposes, none. Her mother’s two brothers were killed in the war—and she was old Coniston’s only child. Mrs. Melford, though the girl calls her ‘Cousin Mildred,’ is actually a cousin of Colonel Luscombe’s. Luscombe’s done his best for the girl in his conscientious old-fashioned way—but it’s difficult…for a man.”
“Miss Blake brought up the subject of marriage, you say? There’s no possibility, I suppose, that she may actually already be married—”
“She’s well under age—she’d have to have the assent of her guardian and trustees.”
“Technically, yes. But they don’t always wait for that,” said Father.
“I know. Most regrettable. One has to go through all the machinery of making them Wards of Court, and all the rest of it. And even that has its difficulties.”
“And once they’re married, they’re married,” said Father. “I suppose, if she were married, and died suddenly, her husband would inherit?”
“This idea of marriage is most unlikely. She has been most carefully looked after and….” He stopped, reacting to Chief-Inspector Davy’s cynical smile.
However carefully Elvira had been looked after, she seemed to have succeeded in making the acquaintance of the highly unsuitable Ladislaus Malinowski.
He said dubiously, “Her mother bolted, it’s true.”
“Her mother bolted, yes—that’s what she would do—but Miss Blake’s a different type. She’s just as set on getting her own way, but she’d go about it differently.”
“You don’t really think—”
“I don’t think anything—yet,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
[At Bertram’s Hotel- Agatha Christie] Chapter Twenty-three