“That’s the funny thing about it,’ said Kirk.
*By the way, if Mr Noakes had had any money to leave, who would have come in for it?’
‘Ah!’ The Superintendent’s face brightened. ‘We’ve got that. Found this bit of a will in that old desk in the kitchen.’ He produced the paper from his pocket and spread it out
‘ “After payment of my just debts-”’
‘Cynical blighter! A fine fat legacy to leave anyone.’
‘“All I die possessed of to my niece and sole surviving relative, Agnes Twitterton.” That surprise you?’
‘Not at all. Why should it?’ But Kirk, slow as he seemed, had seen Peter’s quick frown and now pressed home his advantage.
‘When this Jew-bird, MacBride, started blowing the gaff, what did Miss Twitterton say?’
‘Er-well!’ said Peter, ‘she went off the deep end naturally.’
‘Naturally. Seemed a bit of a blow to her, eh?’
‘Not more than you might expect. Who witnessed the will, by the way?’
‘Simon Goodacre and John Jellyfield. He’s the doctor from Pagford. It’s all in order. What did Miss Twitterton say when your man discovered the body?’
‘Well, she shrieked a bit and so on, and went off into hysterics.’
‘Did she say anything particular, besides shrieking?’
Peter was conscious of a curious reluctance. Theoretically, he was quite as ready to hang a woman as a man, but the memory of Miss Twitterton, frenziedly clinging to Harriet, was disturbing to him. He was tempted to feel, with Kirk, that marriage was a handicap to a young officer.
‘See here, my lord,’ said Kirk, his ox-eyes mild but implacable, ‘I’ve heard one or two things from these other people.’
‘Then,’ retorted Peter, ‘why don’t you ask them?’
‘I’m going to. Joe, ask Mr MacBride to step here a minute. Now, my lord, you’re a gentleman and you’ve got your feelings. I know all that, and it does you credit. But I’m a police- officer, and I can’t afford to indulge in feelings. They’re a privilege of the upper classes.’
‘Upper classes be damned!* said Peter. This stung him, all the more that he knew he deserved it.
‘Now, MacBride,’ went on Kirk. cheerfully, ‘he’s no class at all. If I asked you, you’d tell the truth, but it might ‘urt you. Now I can get it out of MacBride, and it won’t ‘urt him in the least.’
‘I see,’ said Peter. ‘Painless extractions a speciality.’
He walked up to the fire and kicked the logs moodily.
Mr MacBride came in with great alacrity; his face expressed that the sooner all this was over, the sooner to Town. He had already given the police the details of the financial situation and was straining like a greyhound at the official leash.
‘Oh, Mr MacBride, there’s just one other thing. Did you happen to notice what sort of effect the discovery of the body had upon the family and friends, so to speak?’
‘Well.’ said Mr MacBride, ‘they were upset. Who wouldn’t be?’ (A silly question to keep a man waiting about for.)
‘Remember anything special said?’
‘Oh, ah!’ said Mr MacBride. ‘I get you. Well, now, the gardener chap-he went as white as a sheet, he did-and the old gentleman was badly put about. The niece had hysterics-but she didn’t seem as much surprised as the rest, did she?’ He appealed to Peter, who avoided his sharp eye by strolling over to the window and gazing out at the dahlias. JJ ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, when the servant came in and said they’d found Mr Noakes, she yelled out at once, “Oh! Uncle’s dead!” *
‘Did she now?’ said Kirk.
Peter swung round on his heel.
‘That’s not quite fair, MacBride. Anybody could have told that from Bunter’s manner. I know / could.’
‘Could you?’ said MacBride. ‘You didn’t seem in any hurry to believe it.’ He glanced at Kirk, who asked:
‘Did Miss Twitterton say anything else?’
‘She said, “Uncle’s dead and all the money’s gone!” just like that. Then she had the jim-jams. Nothing like £ s. d. for going straight to the heart, is there?’
‘Nothing,’ said Peter. ‘You. if I recollect rightly, asked whether they’d found any money on the corpse.’
‘Quite right,’ admitted Mr MacBride. ‘He was no relation of mine, you see, was he?’
Peter, worsted at every thrust, lowered his weapon and admitted defeat i
‘The legal profession,’ he said, ‘must present you with a comprehensive picture of Christian family life. What do you think of it?’
‘Not much,’ replied Mr MacBride, succinctly. He turned back to the table. ‘I say, Mr Superintendent, are you going to want me any more? I’ve got to get back to Town.’
‘That’s O.K. We’ve got your address. Good morning, Mr MacBride, and thanks very much.’ As the door shut behind him, Kirk transferred his glance to Peter. ‘That right, my lord?’
‘Quite right.’
‘Ah! well, I think we’ll have to see Miss Twitterton.’
‘I’ll get my wife to fetch her down,’ said Peter, and escaped. Mr Kirk sat back in Merlin’s seat and rubbed his hands thoughtfully.
‘That’s a real nice gentleman, Joe,’ said Mr Kirk. ‘Straight out o’ the top drawer. Pleasant and easy as kiss-me-’and. Well eddicated, too. But he sees which way the wind’s blowing, and he don’t like it. Small blame to him.’
‘But,’ objected the constable, ‘he can’t think Aggie Twitterton coshed old Noakes on the ‘ead with a mallet. She’s a little slip of a thing.’
‘You never know, me lad. The female of the species is deadlier than the male. That’s Rudyard Kipling. He knows that, though it’s agin his upbringing to say so. Not but what he’d a-made it sound a lot better if he had said it, instead of leaving it to MacBride. But there! He couldn’t lay tongue to it, I suppose. Besides, he knew well enough I’d have it out of MacBride in the end.’
‘Well, he ain’t done her much good, as I can see.’
‘Them sort of feelings,’ pronounced Mr Kirk, commonly don’t do much good, except to complicate things. But they’re pretty, and, if taken the right way, ‘armless. You got to learn to get round ‘em, when you’re dealing with gentry. And remember this: what they don’t say is more important than what they do say, especially when they’ve got good brains, like this here gentleman has. He sees well enough that if Noakes was killed for what he had to leave-’
‘But he hadn’t nothing to leave.’
‘I know that. But she didn’t. Aggie Twitterton didn’t know. And if he was murdered for what he had to leave, that ‘ud explain why the £600 wasn’t took off the body. Maybe she didn’t know it was there, and if she did, she didn’t have to take it, because it ‘ud all be hers in the end. Use your ‘ead, Joe Sellon.’
Peter in the meantime had caught Mr MacBride on the doorstep. ‘How do you get back?’
‘Lord knows,’ said Mr MacBride, frankly. ‘I came by train to Great Pagford and took the bus on. If there’s no bus handy I’ll have to get a lift. I wouldn’t have believed there were places like this, within fifty mile of London. Beats me how people can live in ‘em. But it’s all a matter of taste, ain’t it?’
‘Bunter can take you in the car to Pagford,’ said Peter. “They won’t want him again for a bit. Sorry you should have been dumped into all this.’
Mr MacBride was grateful, and said so. ‘It’s all in the day’s work,’ he added. ‘You’re the ones that come off worst, in one way, you and her ladyship. I never saw much to fancy in these three-by-four villages myself. Think it’s the little woman, do you? Well, you can’t be sure; but in our way of business we do have to keep our eyes peeled when it comes to relations, particularly if there’s money in it. There’s some people won’t ever make a will-say it’s like signing their own death-warrant. And they ain’t so far out. But look here! This chap Noakes was pretty well up against it, wasn’t he? He may have been doing some funny stuff on the side. I’ve known men get bumped off for other things besides money. Well, so long. My respects to her ladyship, and much obliged.’