“Well, well,” Reggie murmured. “Bafflin’ case. Speakin’ medically, you see, it’s important to find somebody who met him the night he died.” Under his grave eyes Miss Pearse admitted that she could understand that. “Two possible lines of enquiry,” Reggie mumbled. “Do you know any other Devon people living hereabouts?”
“I cannot imagine why you insist on Devonshire people,” she said.
“No? Other line of enquiry. Do you know any house where a constable would be welcome in the kitchen?”
Miss Pearse gave him a look of reproof. “That is an unpleasant question,” she said acidly. “I should not be likely to observe such conduct.” But it appeared to Reggie that she was considering whether she should say she had observed some. He proceeded to tempt her.
“Domestic conduct not what it was,” he mourned. “People don’t look after their homes.” Miss Pearse was quick to agree. “Yes. You find that even in Langdon, what? I was wondering” - he gazed at her solemnly - “garden next door looked rather wild - I was wondering - is that a go - as - you - please place where a policeman might be in and out of the kitchen?”
Miss Pearse drew herself up. She really could not say. And she went on saying. Mrs. Colson had been at Bellagio for many years. It was built by her father - in - law. He had designed the garden; it was the delight of his life - such a sweet fanciful place it used to be. But now - -!
“Rather neglected, what? “Reggie murmured.
Miss Pearse would not say that Mrs. Colson neglected things. But after the children grew up she had had nothing but trouble. Her father - in - law died; her husband died. She had been such a sweet happy creature before. But afterwards - - No wonder. They were fine men. She was a devoted mother, absolutely devoted. She had only lived for her children. And they - - -! Really Miss Pearse could not endure the modern notion that parents must give up everything to their children - it made for nothing but misery.
“Nobody should give up everything to anybody, no,” Reggie purred. “Quite immoral. Has Mrs. Colson many children?”
With a certain vehemence, as if she felt the number offensive. Miss Pearse told him there were two. Alfred Colson was a harmless creature enough, but absolutely dependent on his mother. It was a wonder he ever married. He and his wife were always at his mother’s knee.
“Still lives in the maternal house?” Reggie murmured.
“Oh, they have a home of their own,” said Miss Pearse. “One of the flats in that disgusting block where the Old Hall was; they can hardly know what it’s like.”
“United family,” Reggie smiled. “Charming. And the daughter. Equally devoted?”
“I suppose Minnie has never been away from her mother a day,” said Miss Pearse, with disdain. “The most affectionate creature. But Minnie is at anybody’s service. She bustles in all the good works we have. Really, it is as if she hadn’t time to have a self of her own.”
“I see. Yes. Very interesting.” Reggie encouraged more opinions of the Colson family.
But Miss Pearse decided that she had said all she wanted, or more. She smoothed down her dress, and met his look of enquiry with mild, innocent eyes in which there was something hard and assured. She was the grandmother who knew everything and had told the small boy all that was good for him.
“Thanks very much,” he smiled. “And if anything should occur to you, you’ll tell the police station, won’t you?”
“I cannot conceive that anything else will occur to me,” said Miss Pearse. “Good day.”
When they were outside. “She’s a hard case, sir,” Underwood grinned. Reggie did not answer. He gazed pensively at the purple bulk of Bellagio and its dingy lace curtains, and his pace was slow. “Well, I don’t know what you make of her, sir,” Underwood went on. “I can’t make up my mind whether we’ve drawn blank or got on to something.”
“Not blank, no,” Reggie mumbled.
“You shook her up all right,” Underwood admitted. “She didn’t like being told there was something Devonshire about Milk’s death, did she? That bothered her quite a lot. Might mean you were right, sir, and he got his arsenic in her house.”
“Yes. It could be.”
“And then, that didn’t look too good her telling the tale about the people next door. Very keen to run them down, wasn’t she? Fishy, that was, there’s no denying.”
“You think so? Yes. Reaction to suggestion of the house next door very marked. Vivid description of the Colson family. I should say she’s had them on her mind some time. Thoughtful person, our Miss Pearse.”
“She’s deep,” Underwood nodded. “She knows something. She gave me the creeps now and then. I kept getting the idea she wasn’t human - didn’t feel things the natural way.”
“Rather superhuman, yes. Old ladies are - when clever and lonely.”
“I can imagine her doing anything,” said Underwood. “But then, what’s the sense of supposing she or her old servants poisoned a policeman?”
“Not likely. No. However. The provisional hypothesis is that the saffron cake wasn’t meant for the policeman.”
“You mean she might have sent a cake in next door?” Underwood cried. “She meant to poison some of the Colsons, and Mills got it? That’s all right.”
“Yes. It could be. I wonder. Some way to go yet. And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep. Next step in the investigation quite obvious. Find out all about the Colson family and servants, if any. Miss Pearse’s history of the Colsons has interest. A heart - to - heart talk with a Colson cook would be illuminatin’. Don’t be official. Underwood. Use your charms. You should fascinate any cook.”
