“Oh yes.”
“And were the parents a happy couple?” Constance asked more brazenly.
“I never saw them quarrel.”
“Was that because they were in perfect, loving accord? Or because they were rarely in the same room?”
Cordell fidgeted. “Is that relevant?”
“We have established,” Solomon said, “that in the last few weeks of his life, something worried Mr. St. John. Was it his wife?”
Cordell looked genuinely surprised. “Why, no, I would doubt it. They were amicable, never did anything to displease each other.”
“What did they do topleaseeach other?” Constance asked. “Did they give each other gifts? Did they laugh together? What did they do as a whole family?”
Cordell leaned back in his chair. Solomon could almost see him readjusting his thoughts to a different point of view, reconsidering.
“Actually,” he said, “I never saw or heard them do anything to please each other specifically. Apart from St. John agreeing to escort Bella and her mother to some formal party, or to the theatre, or to be present at some gathering at the house. I never saw them give each other any gifts. They laughed—St. John more than Mrs. St. John—but now that I think about it, it was never together, except when Bella or her brother were being amusing. The whole family met at the dining table most nights, but otherwise, it tended to be one parent or the other. Apart from the formal occasions I already mentioned.” He refocused his gaze on Solomon. “I don’t believe that is unusual in couples of that age and class. They drift apart and enjoy their own lives.”
It sounded just a little defensive. Perhaps his own parents existed in a similar kind of relationship. Solomon wondered if such apathy would ever overtake Constance and himself and could not imagine it.
“And there was no concern about either of the children?” Constance asked.
“No. Though Anthony is quite eager to get away.”
“Why?”
Cordell shrugged. “I don’t know. I always thought it was just a young man’s need to spread his wings and be independent.”
“Was there any conflict with his father?” Constance asked. “There often is between fathers and sons of that age.”
“I never saw any arguments. St. John was proud of him, especially his academic achievements. Theydidlaugh together.”
Constance was busy taking notes. Cordell was watching her.
Solomon asked, “What did St. John do with his time? What were his interests?”
Cordell’s mouth opened, and then closed as he frowned. “Actually, I don’t know. He spoke amiably on lots of subjects, spent a great deal of time in his study with books.”
“Books on what?” Solomon asked.
“Poetry. He was very fond of poetry. Classical literature. But he was also interested in modern science and engineering, bridges, railways, machines…”
“And when he left his study, when he went out, when he wasn’t accompanying his family, where did he go?”
Cordell shrugged a little helplessly. “His clubs. Various lectures on geography, archaeology, science… I don’t really know, to be honest.” His face brightened. “He did go to musical concerts at lunchtimes occasionally.”
“Do you know where?”
“No,” Cordell sighed. “I always liked him, you know, but you’ve made me realize how little I actuallyknewhim. He was a very private man.”
A man with something to hide? Did he really go to all these lectures and concerts, or were they just cover for hours spent in an opium den?
As Cordell rose to leave, he said, “I don’t want the truth to sully St. John’s reputation, just remove the uncertainty to let the family grieve in peace.”
Solomon thought of his own long search for David, of the oddities and tragedies that had come out of other investigations. “The truth isn’t always what you want to hear. One last question for now…” He delved into his pocket and unwrapped the flask. “Do you recognize this?”
Cordell glanced at it. “Can’t say I do. He picked it up and turned it over, his eyebrows arching. “TSJ? Is it St. John’s?”
