“Yes. She is scared. But the little brain is still cunning. She was manoeuvrin’ all the time.”
“Of course she was. To save her own skin.”
“I wonder,” Reggie murmured.
“My dear fellow, she’ll do anything to save herself.”
“Oh, yes. That’s the nature of the animal. I agree something will emerge. I should say she had it in her head before you started. There were indications. However.”
The door opened and Bell brought in Florian.
He had not prepared himself to be seen. His clothes were a working rig, loose, crumpled, and dirty. He had been slovenly in shaving; there were cuts on his skin, and a black stubble beneath the little whisker on the left of his face. His dark complexion was faded to a pallid yellow, and puffy. He came with shambling, jerky movements, and as he came broke out: “What is it? What do you want with me? Lomas waved him to a chair. He made a violent gesture. “Ah, bah, that, no. I do not come to visit you. I have no time. Say what you wish and finish. I listen.” He folded his arms and struck an attitude of defiance.
“We are investigating murder, Mr. Florian. I want information from you,” said Lomas.
“I cannot give it you. I know nothing. All is said.”
“That won’t do.” Lomas smiled. “You know a great deal. Have you ever been here before?”
“Here in this house? Once. I dine here last night.”
“And in this room?”
Florian looked round it. “Never in my life.” He made an exclamation of disgust. “It is hideous. It is bourgeois.”
“Why did you come to dinner last night?”
“You are impudent. Miss Rook is my betrothed. I came to be presented to her mother.”
“And after you left, her mother was found with her throat cut.”
Florian swore in Italian, flung out his folded arms, and struck himself on the breast. “That, it is horrible. It destroys me. What do I know? I know nothing. Fate plays with me. Ah, it is always so. Fate grudges genius to man.”
“The weapon which killed Mrs. Rook was taken from this room.” Lomas pointed to the dagger on the wall. “The twin of that.”
“You say?” Florian muttered, and with a tripping, shambling gait went to look at the dagger. “A vulgarity,” he sneered at it. “How it labours to be decorated, to be rich! It is base. Yes, all is like that.” He turned his back on it and glowered at Lomas.
“Did you have a pleasant evening with Mrs. Rook?” Lomas asked affably.
“An evening in family.” Florian shrugged.
“She was pleased to receive you as her daughter’s fiance?”
“Why not? “Florian scowled. “I have a name, I think.”
“You’re not a great match for an heiress, are you?” Lomas put up his eyebrows. “Did Mrs. Rook mention that?”
“You are insolent,” Florian cried. “There was no talk, no thought of money.”
“Wasn’t there? What did you talk about?”
“God! Should I remember? She talked family, the old lady, as they do.”
“I dare say. Was there no objection to you coming into it?” Florian did not answer. “So you did quarrel?”
“That - that is a lie,” Florian muttered.
“Is it? Why do you suppose Mrs. Rook’s throat was cut just after your dinner? Did you know that her death gave her fortune to Miss Rook?”
