‘None, so far as I know, but I have been out of touch with her for many years.’
‘Does anybody obtain any monetary advantage by her death?’
‘Well, that’s the difficulty. I saw her lawyer after the funeral and it seems that she left all of which she died possessed to be divided equally among her natural son Ransome Lovelaine — my sister, as you may have been informed, changed her name to Chayleigh when she inherited the Chayleigh house and estate on this island and adopted the status of a married woman for what, no doubt, she thought good and sufficient reasons — myself and Miss Crimp.’
‘I see.’
‘Suppose that I should die first—I do not know how many years Miss Crimp has to her credit, and age is nothing really to go by — but supposing that I have the shortest life-span — then my share is to be divided between the other two. In other words, except for the last of the three of us, we have no more than a life-interest in our share of the property. The survivor, however, takes all and can dispose of it at will. That is the thing in a nutshell.’
‘And supposing you are right, and that your sister was murdered,’ said Dame Beatrice, giving him another sharp glance, ‘would a third share in her property have tempted one of you to kill her, I wonder?’
‘I can only speak for myself,’ said Marius, ‘and I can assure you that I did not kill my sister for that or for any other reason.’
‘Besides, you were not on the island at the time of her death and no doubt you can prove that. What about Ransome? Would he think that, as her nearest relative, he should have been left everything instead of only one-third?’
‘That would mean he murdered for revenge as well as for gain, would it not?’
‘Very likely. What about Miss Crimp? She also might feel that she had a major claim as she helps to run the hotel and, I imagine, has shares in it.’
‘Yes, I believe she has. My son and daughter tell me, however, that the hotel is doing very badly and that my sister (and, I suppose, Miss Crimp) are in debt. Sebastian says that they have no proof of this, but they learned it, I believe, from Ransome.’
‘If there are debts, these, presumably, would need to be discharged before any benefits could accrue to the three claimants.’
‘I shall make it my business to find out exactly how matters stand, but, judging by the fact that my sister had made no record of my booking at the hotel, I fear she may have been very slap-dash and careless and her affairs may need a good deal of disentangling. Of course, I suppose she was a very busy woman, but even the busiest person should be businesslike.’
‘Very busy?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Would you think so? From various bits of gossip which Laura has picked up since we have been here, it seems that the hotel is rarely more than a quarter full, even in the height of the summer, and that the ornithologists’ numbers are a phenomenon.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think they’re paying full rates,’ said Marius. ‘Well, I must not take up more of your time, Dame Beatrice. I am most obliged to you for being willing to look into my family affairs, and I will be guided by you in every particular.’
He rose to leave. Laura appeared and escorted him to the door.
‘It’s very dark tonight. Can I lend you a torch?’ she asked.
‘Oh, it is only a step and, once I am up out of this dip, the hotel lights will guide me,’ Marius replied. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Gavin. I am greatly obliged to you for your help.’
‘I’ve done nothing yet,’ said Laura, who had been present at the interview. She kept the door open to light him through the small front garden and then called goodnight as he disappeared among the shrubs. She returned to Dame Beatrice and said,
‘What’s his real problem, I wonder. He’s scared about something. Are you going to do anything about it?’
‘Well,’ Dame Beatrice replied, ‘it might fit in very well with our other task, the one laid upon us by our dear Robert.’
‘Which, so far, we have not begun.’
‘You are always so impatient. We have to begin by establishing in the minds of the inhabitants that we are friendly, innocent and completely occupied with our own concerns. Only then can we operate with any assurance of succeeding in our enterprise. Nobody will be in the least surprised by our open interest in Mrs Chayleigh’s death. It is the talk of the island. Everyone, whether he knows anything about us or not, will fully expect that we shall be sufficiently interested to make enquiries and listen to gossip.’
‘You seem pretty cold-blooded about the wretched woman’s death.’
‘I did not know her, and that absolves me from prejudice. It is as well to approach the death of strangers with an open mind, although one is precluded from doing so in the case of relatives, friends and acquaintances.’
‘Granted that Mrs Chayleigh was murdered, do you think it was for what she had to leave?’
‘It is possible, of course.’
‘Even if she left debts?’
‘The murderer (if there is one) may not know about the debts and, moreover, it is not yet established that she left any. The story appears to rest on the so-far unsupported word of the illegitimate son, who may have the best of reasons for minimising the supposed value of his inheritance.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘I have not made up my mind about that. It may be useful for me to have a talk with Mr Ransome Lovelaine.’
‘Be sticking your neck out if he happens to be the murderer, won’t you?’
‘My neck is not very long, dear child.’
‘Wonder what Père Lovelaine thinks you can do?’
Marius, taking the steep upward path towards the road which led back to the hotel, was pondering on this problem with such absorption that, until a flying figure dived at him out of the darkness and astonished and infuriated him by bringing him to the ground, he had no idea that his departure from Puffins had been witnessed by anybody except Laura, and therefore he was totally unprepared for this unmannerly encounter.
It was fortunate for him that the path, although rather rough, was on a sharp slope, for, instead of his opponent being able to get his hands on his victim’s throat, as appeared to be his intention, the pair of them rolled over and over towards the front door of the house. Marius was small and spare and made no claim to athletic prowess, but he had never been self-indulgent and was in good condition. Moreover, he did not lose his head. Realising at once that he was no match for a much heavier adversary and one who had taken him by surprise, he adopted his only real means of defence, and shouted loudly for help so long as he could keep the other man from throttling him. He had good lungs and a rather high tenor voice which carried well. The front door of Puffins was flung open and a flood of light fell upon the struggling pair.
‘What the hell?’ enquired the voice of Dame Beatrice’s sturdy manservant George. He was immediately joined by Laura, who said, ‘What is it, George?’ At this the aggressor scrambled up with some celerity, kicked out at the prostrate Marius and made off at a scrambling gallop which almost at once took him out of the orbit of the light which shone from the house. Marius picked himself up, limping from the kick which, intended for his groin, had taken him harmlessly but painfully on the top of the left thigh, and apologised for creating a disturbance.