Chapter 7 Chapter VII

"Now," said Taverner, "let's talk to Mrs. Phillips, whose stage name is Magda West." "Is she doing well?" I asked. "I know her name, and I believe I've seen her in a few plays, though I don't remember when or where." "She was one of those so-called rookies," said Taverner. "She had a few appearances at the 'Westinghouse' theater, and she was quite well-known in the usual theaters with regular troupes—she was often in the small theater of the intellectuals." and Sunday clubs. I think the thing that works against her acting is that she doesn't have to act for her, that's true. She can pick and choose, choose a role she likes, go where she likes, and occasionally Paying for a show for a role she's dreaming of--usually the worst role in the world for her. As a result, she's relegated to the amateur class, not the professional class. She plays well , you know, especially comedy--but theater managers don't like her very much--they say she's too independent and gets into trouble--likes pranks and fights. I don't know how much of that is true--but she Not very popular among peers."

Sophia came out of the living room and said, "My mother is here, Chief Inspector." I followed Taverner into a large drawing room.For a moment, I could barely recognize the woman sitting on the satin-backed settee. Red and yellow hair combed in an Edwardian hairstyle.Towering over her head, she wore a finely tailored dark gray skirt suit and a dainty lavender crepe blouse.A small agate brooch is tied at the collar.For the first time I noticed the charm of her nose with a slightly slanted tip.Reminds me a bit of comedian Jahina Schiller--it seems pretty unbelievable that this is the restless woman in the peachy house dress.

"Inspector Taverner?" she said. "Come in and sit down, please. Do you smoke? It's the most horrible thing. I just felt like I couldn't take it." Her voice was low and emotionless, the voice of someone who is single-minded about self-control at all costs.She continued: "If I can be of any help to you, just say so." "Thank you, Mrs Leonides. Where were you when the tragedy happened?" "I think I must have been driving back from London. I was having lunch with a friend at The Ivy, and then we went to see a fashion show. We had a few drinks at Berkeley with some other friends. , and then I set off for home. When I got back here, everything was in a commotion. It was as if my father-in-law had a fit. He—was dead.” Her voice was only trembling slightly.

"Do you like your father-in-law?" "I love—" Her voice rose.Sophia slightly adjusted the angle of Digas' painting.Magda's voice dropped to its previously suppressed volume. "I like him very much," she said in a calm voice. "All of us. He—was very nice to us." "Are you on good terms with Mrs Leonides?" "We don't see Brenda very often." "why?" "Oh, we don't have much in common. Poor dear Brenda, life must be hard for her sometimes." Sophia moved the painting of Chogas again. "Really? How to say?"

"Oh, I don't know." Magda shook her head with a sad wry smile. "Is Mrs Leonides happy with her husband?" "Oh, happiness, I suppose." "No quarrel?" The gesture of smiling and shaking his head reappeared. "I don't really know, Mr. Inspector. Their part of the house is quite isolated from here. "She and Mr. Laurence Brown are very friendly, aren't they?" Magda Leonides froze.Her eyes widened and she looked at Taverner with accusation. "I don't think," she said haughtily, "that you shouldn't be asking me that kind of question. Brenda is pretty nice to everybody. She's a really nice person."

"Do you like Mr. Laurence Brown?" "He's very quiet, which is nice, but so quiet that you hardly know he's there. I don't see him very often, actually." "Is his teaching satisfactory?" "I suppose so. I really don't know. Philip seems quite satisfied." Taverner tries some "shock" tricks. "I'm sorry to ask you this, but does it seem to you that there was any love affair between Mr. Brown and Mrs. Brenda Leonides?" Magda stood up, all in the manner of an old grandmother. "I've never seen anything like this," she said. "I really don't think, Mr. Inspector, that's the question you should ask me? She's my father-in-law's wife."

I almost applauded. The Inspector also stood up. "More like a question to a servant?" he suggested. Magda didn't answer. "Thank you, Mrs Leonides," said the Inspector, and went out. "You performed beautifully, dear," said Sophia warmly to her mother. Magda thoughtfully rolled up a lock of hair behind her ear and looked at herself in the mirror. "Yes—yes," she said, "I think it's the right thing to do." Sophia looked at me. "Shouldn't you," she asked, "go with the Inspector?" "Listen, Sophia, how can I—"

I stopped.I couldn't ask what role I was supposed to play in front of Sophia's mother.Magda Leonides had so far taken no interest in my presence, except as the object of her "exit remarks" about her daughter.I could be a reporter, or her daughter's fiancé, or an unidentified police officer, or even someone from an undertaker's house—it's all the same to Magda Leonides, it's just that her audience one. Mrs Leonides looked down at her feet, and said dissatisfied: "These shoes are wrong, too flirtatious." Under Sophia's urgent shaking of the head, I followed him and hurried out to find Taverner.I found him in the hall outside, just through the door to the landing.

"Just going upstairs to see my brother," he explained. I put my problem to him, so as not to trouble me later. "Listen to me, Taverner, who am I?" He looked surprised. "who are you?" "Yes, what the hell am I doing in this house? If someone asks me, what should I say?" "Oh, I see." He considered for a moment, then smiled and said, "Did anyone ask you?" "Oh - no." "Then why not just leave it at that, never explain, that's a good motto. Especially in a house like this turbulent, where everyone has too many worries and fears of their own to be in the mood to ask questions. As long as you Put on an air of confidence about yourself and they'll take you for granted. It's a big mistake to say anything unnecessary. Well, now we're going upstairs and the door is unlocked. Of course you understand, I hope, all I All of these questions are nonsense! It doesn't matter who's in the house and who's not, or where they were on the day it happened—"

"Then why—" He went on: "Because it at least gives me a chance to look at all of them, to look at them, to hear what they have to say, while hoping, purely by chance, that someone might give me a useful indicator." There was silence for a while, and then he murmured: "I bet. Magda Leonides can say a lot, if she is allowed to." "Reliable?" I asked. "Oh, no," Taverner said, "what she said will not be reliable, but it can open up a possible route of investigation. Everyone in this damned room has the opportunity to do it, and the tools to do it. What I need is criminal motive."

At the top of the stairs, there is a door blocking the walkway on the right.There was a brass knocker on the door, and Taverner knocked vigorously. The door was slammed open by someone inside who must have happened to be standing by the door inside.He was a hulking, heavy-set man with strong shoulders, shaggy black hair, and a very ugly but at the same time kindly face.He looked at us, then quickly moved away with the secret embarrassment of a shy, honest man. "Oh," he said, "come in. Yes, come in. I'm going--but that's all right. Come into the parlour, I'll find Clemency--oh, where are you, dear, it's Taverner Inspector. He—does he have a cigarette? Wait a minute. If you don't mind—" He touched a screen, said "I'm sorry" to it a little awkwardly, and went out. Like a pair of hornets gone, leaving behind a remarkable silence. Mrs. Roger Leonides was standing at the window.I was instantly mesmerized by her temperament and the atmosphere in the room. This is indeed her room, I'm sure. The walls were painted white--true white, not ivory or cream, as the "white" is usually used in upholstery.There were no pictures on the walls, except one over the fireplace, a geometric fantasy of triangles in dark gray and battleship blue.There was hardly any furniture in the room--just the essentials, three or four chairs, a glass-topped table, and a small bookcase.There are no decorations.There is light, space and air.It was as chalk and cheese as the difference from the great flower-filled living room downstairs.And Mrs. Roger Leonides and Mrs. Philips were different kinds of women.Magda Leonides makes it seem like she can be, and often is, at least half a dozen different types of woman; and Clemency Leonides, I'm sure, is very much herself. .She is a very defined, sharp woman. She was about fifty, I think, and her hair was gray and cut very short, almost like an Eton 'watermelon head', but it was so pretty on her nicely shaped little head, not so This hairstyle always reminds me of ugliness.She had an intelligent, sensitive face, and a pair of light gray eyes with a peculiar intensity of penetrating insight.She was wearing a simple dark red woolen dress, which matched her slender figure perfectly. I felt right away that she was a bit of a shocking woman...I think it was because I judged that the norms of her life might be different from the average woman, and I immediately understood why Sophia used the word "cold" to her body.The room was cold and I shivered a little. Clemency Leonides said in a well-bred, calm voice: "Please take a seat, Inspector General. Any further news?" "Death was caused by Iserene, Mrs Leonides." She said thoughtfully: "Murder, so to speak. It can't be an accident, can it?" "Impossible, Mrs Leonides." "Please be gentle with my husband, Inspector General. It will affect him badly. He adores his father, and he's very emotionally vulnerable. He's an emotional man." "How are you getting on with your father-in-law, Mrs Leonides?" "Yes, quite well," she added quietly, "I don't like him very much." "why?" "I didn't like some of his goals in life -- and the way he got there." "And Mrs. Brenda Leonides?" "Brenda? I don't see her often." "Do you think there might be anything between her and Mr. Laurence Brown?" "You mean—some kind of romance? I don't think so. But I really have no way of knowing." Her voice sounded utterly disinterested. Roger Leonides hurried back like a bumblebee. "I was delayed," he said. "Telephone. How's it going, Mr. Inspector? How's it going, any news? How did my father die?" "Iserin was poisoned to death." "Really? My God! Then there's that woman! She can't wait! He literally got her out of the ghetto, and that's what he got in return. She murdered him brutally! Oh my God, just thinking about it My blood boils." "Have you any particular reason for thinking so?" Taverner asked. Roger pulled his hands through his hair and walked up and down. "Why? Why, and who else could it be? I never trusted her—never liked her! None of us liked her. Philip and I were one day when Papa came back and told us he had married her." Astonished! At his age! Crazy - really crazy. My father is a funny man, Mr. Inspector. Intellectually, he's as young and fresh as a man of forty. In this world I He gave me everything. He did everything for me—anything I asked for, never let me down. I let him down—when I think about—” He slumped heavily into a chair.His wife walked beside him calmly. "Enough, Roger. Don't be too hard on yourself." "I know, darling—I know—" He took her hand. "But how can I be so calm—how can I not feel—" "But we must all calm down, Roger. Inspector Taverner needs our help." "Yes, Mrs Leonides." Roger exclaimed: "You know what I want to do? I want to strangle that woman with my own hands. She can't give dear old man a few more years. If she's here, I—" He jumped up.Trembling with anger.He held out his twitching hands. "Yes, I'll break her neck, break her neck..." "Roger," said Clemency sharply. He looked at her and blushed. "I'm sorry, my dearest." He turned to us. "I'm sorry. I couldn't control my emotions for a while. I—I'm sorry—" He walked out of the room again.Clemency talked and laughed and said: "Really, you know, he couldn't bear to hurt a fly." Taverner accepted her comments politely. Then he began what he called a routine interview. Clemency Leonides answered precisely and concisely. Roger Leonides was in London on the day his father died, at the head office of the United Catering Company.He came back early that afternoon and spent some time with his father as usual.She herself was as usual, at the Gower Street Lambert institution where she worked.When it was almost six o'clock, she came home. "Have you seen your father-in-law that day?" "No. The last time I saw him was the day before. We had coffee with him after lunch." "But you didn't see him the day he died?" "No. I actually went to that part of the house where he lived, because Roger thought he had left his pipe there and forgotten to bring it back--a very precious pipe, but because his pipe happened to be there on the side hall table, so I didn't disturb the old man. He usually starts to doze off around six o'clock." "Do you know when he was ill?" "Brenda came in a hurry. About six thirty-one, two." The questions were unimportant, as I knew, but I noticed how attentive Inspector Taverner was to the woman who answered them.He asked her some questions about the nature of her work in London.She said it had something to do with the radioactive energy of atom splitting. "Actually, you worked on the atomic bomb?" "The work is not destructive. This institution is an experiment in medical utility." Taverner got up and said he wanted to look around this part of the house.She seemed a little surprised, but calmly showed him around.The bedroom with its double bed, white sheets, and simple toiletries reminded me again of a hospital or a monastery.The bathroom is also simple and plain, without luxurious and special shower equipment; nor are there rows of bottles and cans.The kitchen is spotless with no carpeting and has practical, hassle-free cooking utensils.Then we came to a door, which Clemency opened and said, "This is my husband's private room." "Come in," said Roger. "Come in." I breathed a sigh of relief.The austerity and cleanliness of the rest of the area overwhelms me.But it was a very private room, with papers, old pipes and cigarette ashes strewn all over a desk with a roll-up top, and a few old old easy chairs.The floor was covered with Persian rugs.There are various group photos hanging on the wall, which are a bit faded.Group photo of students, group photo of cricket players, group photo of military personnel, etc.There are also watercolor sketches of deserts, temple towers, sailboats, seashores, and sunsets.It was a pleasant room, a room of lovely, friendly, gregarious men, Roger poured the wine clumsily, sweeping books and papers off a chair. "This place is a mess. I'm sorting things out, clearing out some old papers. Just say when you're done." He offered to pour the Inspector a drink, but the Inspector declined, and I accepted. "I'm so sorry just now," Roger went on.He handed me the drink and at the same time turned to Taverner and said, "I can't control my emotions." He looked around almost ashamedly, but Clemency Leonides did not come in with us. "She was wonderful," he said. "I mean, my wife. From beginning to end, she was terrific - terrific! I can't tell you how much I admire that woman. She's going through a really tough time - terrible times. I think Just to tell you the truth. I mean, before we got married, her first husband was a nice guy-- I mean, good brains--but a bad body-- tuberculosis, in fact. He worked in crystallography Some research work of great value, I believe. Bad pay and hard work, but he doesn't give up. She does his work for him, keeps him close, knowing that any moment he might lose his life, and Never complained - never tired. She always said she was having a good time. Then he died and she had no one to turn to. Finally she agreed to marry me. I'm glad I could give her some joy and give her a break ...I really hope she doesn't work anymore, but of course she felt it was her duty during the war and she still seems to feel she should keep doing it. She's a good wife - the best a man can find wife. Ah, how lucky I am! I would do anything for her." Taverner replied gracefully.He then began a similar routine of interviewing again.When did he know his father was sick? "Brenda came to me in a hurry. My father was ill—she said he was having a seizure." "I was sitting and chatting with him half an hour ago, and he was fine at that time. I hurried to him, his face was blue and he was out of breath. I rushed downstairs to find Philip, and he called To the doctor, I—we couldn't do anything. Of course, I never dreamed that there was anything wrong. Something wrong? Did I say something wrong? God, what's the word for that." With some difficulty Taverner and I left Roger Leonides' sentimental room, went outside, and stood again at the top of the stairs. "Hoo!" said Taverner. "What a contrast to his brother." He added, somewhat irrelevantly, "strange things, rooms. Shows you a lot about the people who live in them." I agree with what he said.He went on: "It's strange people marrying each other, isn't it?" I'm not sure if he meant Clemency and Roger, or Philippe and Magda.His words apply to both.In my opinion, however, both marriages might be classed as happy marriages.Roger and Clemency's marriage was, of course, a happy one. "I don't think he was a poisoner, do you?" Taverner asked. "Not an impromptu crime, I don't think so. Of course, it's hard to say. She's more like a hard woman, maybe a little crazy." I agree again. "I don't think, though," I said, "that she would have murdered a man simply because she disapproved of his way of life and aims. Perhaps, if she really hated the old man—but any murderer is simply Murder out of hate?" "Very little," Taverner said. "I've never seen it myself. No, I think we'd be better off keeping an eye on Mrs. Brenda. But God knows if we'll find any evidence."