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Fourteen
1
Mrs. Strete fitted into the library very much better than Gina Hudd had
done. There was nothing exotic about Mrs. Strete. She wore black with
the Established Church should look—which was almost odd, because so
few people ever did look like what they really were.
Curry thought, Christian Charity.
Moreover it was clear that Mrs. Strete was offended.
“I should have thought that you could have given me some idea of when
you would want me, Inspector. I have been forced to sit around waiting all
the morning.”
It was, Curry judged, her sense of importance that was hurt. He
hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Strete. Perhaps you don’t quite know how we set
about these things. We start, you know, with the less important evidence—
get it out of the way, so to speak. It’s valuable to keep to the last a person
on whose judgement we can rely—a good observer—by whom we can
check what has been told us up to date.”
“Oh, I see. I hadn’t quite realised….”
“Now you’re a woman of mature judgement, Mrs. Strete. A woman of
the world. And then this is your home—you’re the daughter of the house,
and you can tell me all about the people who are in it.”
“I can certainly do that,” said Mildred Strete.
“So you see that when we come to the question of who killed Christian
Gulbrandsen, you can help us a great deal.”
brother?”
Inspector Curry leant back in his chair. His hand stroked his small neat
moustache.
“Well—we have to be careful,” he said. “You think it’s obvious?”
“Of course. That dreadful American husband of poor Gina’s. He’s the
only stranger here. We know absolutely nothing about him. He’s probably
would it? Why should he?”
“Because Christian had found out something about him. That’s what he
came here for so soon after his last visit.”
“Are you sure of that, Mrs. Strete?”
“Again it seems to me quite obvious. He let it be thought his visit was in
connection with the Trust—but that’s nonsense. He was here for that only
a month ago. And nothing of importance has arisen since. So he must have
come on some private business. He saw Walter on his last visit, and he
States—naturally he has agents all over the world—and found out some-
thing really damaging. Gina is a very silly girl. She always has been. It is
just like her to marry a man she knows nothing about—she’s always been
man mad! A man wanted by the police, perhaps, or a man who’s already
married, or some bad character in the underworld. But my brother Chris-
tian wasn’t an easy man to deceive. He came here, I’m sure, to settle the
whole business. Expose Walter and show him up for what he is. And so,
naturally, Walter shot him.”
Inspector Curry, adding some out-sized whiskers to one of the cats on
“Ye—es.”
“Don’t you agree with me that that’s what must have happened?”
“It could be—yes,” admitted the Inspector.
“What other solution could there be? Christian had no enemies. What I
can’t understand is why you haven’t already arrested Walter?”
“Well, you see, Mrs. Strete, we have to have evidence.”
“You could probably get that easily enough. If you wired to America—”
“Oh yes, we shall check up on Mr. Walter Hudd. You can be sure of that.
opportunity, of course—”
“He went out just after Christian, pretending the lights had fused—”
“They did fuse.”
“He could easily arrange that.”
“True.”
“That gave him his excuse. He followed Christian to his room, shot him
and then repaired the fuse and came back to the Hall.”
“His wife says he came back before you heard the shot from outside.”
And she’s a Roman Catholic, of course.”
Inspector Curry sidestepped the ecclesiastical angle.
“You think his wife was in it with him?”
Mildred Strete hesitated for a moment.
“No — no, I don’t think that.” She seemed rather disappointed not to
think so. She went on, “That must have been partly the motive—to prevent
Gina’s learning the truth about him. After all, Gina is his bread and but-
ter.”
“And a very beautiful girl.”
“Oh yes. I’ve always said Gina is good-looking. A very common type in
Italy, of course. But if you ask me, it’s money that Walter Hudd is after.
That’s why he came over here and has settled down living on the Serro-
colds.”
“Mrs. Hudd is very well off, I understand?”
“Not at present. My father settled the same sum on Gina’s mother, as he
did on me. But, of course, she took her husband’s nationality (I believe the
has very little of her own. My mother spoils her, and her American aunt,
she wanted during the war years. Nevertheless, from Walter’s point of
view, he can’t lay his hands on much until my mother’s death when a very
large fortune will come to Gina.”
“And to you, Mrs. Strete.”
A faint colour came into Mildred Strete’s cheek.
“And to me, as you say. My husband and myself always lived quietly. He
spent very little money except on books—he was a great scholar. My own
money has almost doubled itself. It is more than enough for my simple
needs. Still one can always use money for benefit of others. Any money
that comes to me, I shall regard as a sacred trust.”
ing. “It will come to you, absolutely.”
“Oh yes—in that sense. Yes, it will be mine absolutely.”
Something in the ring of that last word made Inspector Curry raise his
head sharply. Mrs. Strete was not looking at him. Her eyes were shining,
and her long thin mouth was curved in a triumphant19 smile.
Inspector Curry said in a considering voice:
“So in your view—and, of course, you’ve had ample opportunities of
judging—Mr. Walter Hudd wants the money that will come to his wife
when Mrs. Serrocold dies. By the way, she’s not very strong is she, Mrs.
Strete?”
“My mother has always been delicate.”
“Quite so. But delicate people often live as long or longer than people
“Yes, I suppose they do.”
“You haven’t noticed your mother’s health failing just lately?”
“She suffers from rheumatism21. But then one must have something as
one grows older. I’ve no sympathy with people who make a fuss over inev-
itable aches and pains.”
“Does Mrs. Serrocold make a fuss?”
Mildred Strete was silent for a moment. She said at last:
“She does not make a fuss herself, but she is used to being made a fuss
of. My stepfather is far too solicitous22. And as for Miss Bellever, she makes
herself positively23 ridiculous. In any case, Miss Bellever has had a very bad
influence in this house. She came here many years ago, and her devotion
to my mother, though admirable in itself, has really become somewhat of
house and takes far too much upon herself. I think it annoys Lewis some-
tact whatever, and it is trying for a man to find his wife completely domin-
Inspector Curry nodded his head gently.
“I see … I see….”
He watched her speculatively28.
“There’s one thing I don’t quite get, Mrs. Strete. The position of the two
Restarick brothers?”
“More foolish sentiment. Their father married my poor mother for her
money. Two years afterwards, he ran away with a Yugoslavian singer of
the lowest morals. He was a very unworthy person. My mother was soft-
hearted enough to be sorry for these two boys. Since it was out of the
question for them to spend their holidays with a woman of such notorious
morals, she more or less adopted them. They have been hangers-on here
ever since. Oh yes, we’ve plenty of spongers in this house, I can tell you
that.”
“Alex Restarick had an opportunity of killing Christian Gulbrandsen. He
Stephen?”
“Stephen was in the Hall with us. I don’t approve of Alex Restarick—he
is getting to look very coarse and I imagine he leads an irregular life—but
I don’t really see him as a murderer. Besides, why should he kill my
brother?”
“That’s what we always come back to, isn’t it?” said Inspector Curry gen-
ially. “What did Christian Gulbrandsen know—about someone—that made
it necessary for that someone to kill him?”
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Strete triumphantly30. “It must be Walter Hudd.”
“Unless it’s someone nearer home.”
Mildred said sharply:
“What did you mean by that?”
Inspector Curry said slowly:
“Mr. Gulbrandsen seemed very concerned about Mrs. Serrocold’s health
whilst he was here.”
Mrs. Strete frowned.
“Men always fuss over Mother because she looks fragile. I think she
likes them to! Or else Christian had been listening to Juliet Bellever.”
“You’re not worried about your mother’s health yourself, Mrs. Strete?”
“No. I hope I’m sensible. Naturally Mother is not young—”
“And death comes to all of us,” said Inspector Curry. “But not ahead of
its appointed time. That’s what we have to prevent.”
“Oh it’s wicked—wicked. No one else here really seems to care. Why
should they? I’m the only person who was a blood relation to Christian. To
Mother, he was only a grown-up stepson. To Gina, he isn’t really any rela-
tion at all. But he was my own brother.”
“Half brother,” suggested Inspector Curry.
“Half brother, yes. But we were both Gulbrandsens in spite of the differ-
ence in age.”
Curry said gently, “Yes—yes, I see your point….”
Tears in her eyes, Mildred Strete marched out. Curry looked at Lake.
“So she’s quite sure it’s Walter Hudd,” he said. “Won’t entertain for a
moment the idea of its being anybody else.”
“And she may be right.”
“She certainly may. Wally fits. Opportunity—and motive. Because if he
wants money quick, his wife’s grandmother would have to die. So Wally
hears about it in some way. Yes, it fits very nicely.”
He paused and said:
“By the way, Mildred Strete likes money … She mayn’t spend it, but she
likes it. I’m not sure why … She may be a miser—with a miser’s passion.
Or she may like the power that money gives. Money for benevolence36, per-
Inspector Curry said:
“We’d better see this screwy young man, Lawson, and after that we’ll go
to the Great Hall and work out who was where—and if and why—and
when … we’ve heard one or two rather interesting things this morning.”
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