“What do you mean? I don’t know when she died exactly. I dined at the club.”
“Time?”
“I don’t know. About eight, I suppose. I was in the club all the evening.”
“Any evidence?”
“What do you mean? Fellows must have seen me.”
“Can you think of any fellows?”
Alfred’s hands fidgeted. “I didn’t notice. Why should I?”
“Your affair. When did you arrange to dine at the club last night?”
“I often do.”
“Oh, yes. Told your wife you would?”
Alfred took time to think what he should answer, and decided to say, “Yes.”
“Why?” Reggie drawled. “Why leave your wife to dine alone?”
“Nothing unusual,” Alfred snarled.
“Wasn’t it? Not on good terms with her. What was the trouble? Drink? Money?”
“There wasn’t any trouble.”
“Oh. Somebody had been spending the family money, though. How much have you and your wife drawn from the estate?”
“I can’t tell you. What is it to do with you?”
“Quite a lot. And with you. But you can’t tell me. Better think it over. Go on.” Reggie waved him away, and, after a flinching look of enquiry and fear, he went in a hurry.
Reggie sat erect and alert. “I say, you handled him rough, sir,” said Underwood uneasily. “I - -”
Reggie put up a finger and he stopped, and, in silence, they listened. Over Reggie’s face came a slow benign smile. “There you are,” he whispered. “Upstairs. Into mother’s room. That’s the reaction. To talk over my cruel suspicions.” He slid to the door, and, without a sound, opened it and sat down again… .
After a while they heard more movement overhead: a heavy - footed bustle. “Sister Minnie,” Reggie murmured. A door opened and shut on a high - voiced question. “Sister Minnie gone to ask how things are goin’. The more they are together the happier they’ll be.”
“What’s the idea, sir?” Underwood whispered.
“Next reaction. Shut up.”
It was some time before the bedroom door sounded again. Then came a hurry of heavy feet on the stairs and away down the hall.
“Gone to the kitchen,” Underwood indicated.
“Yes. That is indicated. Come on. Quiet.”
They made their way to the kitchen door. That was open, but they saw only the cook and the daily maid sitting over their tea. “Where is Miss Colson?” Reggie said softly.
The cook jumped. “Miss Minnie’s in the scullery, sir. Warming a glass of milk for the mistress.”
“Oh, all right.” Reggie drew back behind Underwood, and whispered in his ear: “Take her away for a minute. Ask how mother is. Something like that. Three or four minutes.” He slipped out of sight round a corner of the hall.
Underwood went into the scullery. He saw Minnie Colson’s untidy head bent over a saucepan on the gas - stove. At the sound of the door she started back, looking, it remains in his memory, like a frightened horse. When he said he wanted to speak to her, she made stammering difficulties. Oh, but she couldn’t; the milk would boil over, and mother hadn’t had anything all day. Underwood turned off the gas. “Come along. It’s your mother I want to ask you about.” He took her off.
