The Floating Admiral. Агата Кристи

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      “I should have thought those trees at the back of the boat-house would have screened them from you,” said the Inspector, who had made good use of his eyes. “Or do you mean they were crossing the lawn?”

      The Vicar looked at him with respect. “No, they were in the trees,” he said. “But Miss Fitzgerald had on a white dress, and I saw it showing through them.”

      “But Admiral Penistone hadn’t a white dress?”

      “No. … I suppose,” the Vicar reflected, “that now you mention it I couldn’t say I saw the Admiral leave the boat-house—but seeing his niece I naturally concluded he was with her.”

      “Very naturally,” Rudge concurred soothingly. “And you yourself stayed out smoking until—?”

      “Twenty past ten.”

      “And then?”

      “I locked the house up and went to bed.”

      “And you heard nothing more of your neighbour?”

      “Nothing,” said the Vicar. “Nothing at all,” he repeated more loudly.

      “What about your sons? Or your servants? Would they have heard anything?”

      “I don’t think so. They had all gone to bed when I came in.”

      “Thank you. Now, Mr. Mount, can you tell me this? Did Admiral Penistone seem in his usual spirits during the evening?”

      The question appeared to distress the Vicar. “I—I don’t think I can really answer that,” he said. “You see, I haven’t known the Admiral at all long. He has only recently come to the neighbourhood. … I really hardly know him.”

      “But still,” Rudge persisted, “you might have noticed if he seemed distressed, or worried in any way. Did he?” And, seeing the Vicar still hesitated, he pressed his point. “If you did notice anything, Mr. Mount, I really think you should tell me. It’s of the highest importance that we should find out everything we can about the poor gentleman’s state of mind at the time—and I assure you I know how to be discreet.”

      “Well,” said the Vicar, fidgeting a little. “Well … it’s nothing, probably. But I should say—yes—that the Admiral was perhaps a little worried. He was not as—as amiable as usual. And he was generally a very pleasant man—not at all snappish.”

      “He was snappish with Miss Fitzgerald, perhaps?” the Inspector suggested quickly; and the Vicar blinked.

      “Oh, no … hardly … I shouldn’t say that at all.”

      “But he acted as though there was something on his mind. … I suppose you’ve no idea what it was?”

      “I think—I don’t know—it may have been his niece’s marriage. He said something about it. Nothing much.”

      “Oh, she’s getting married, is she? Who to?”

      “Somebody called Holland, Arthur Holland. From London, I think. I don’t know him.”

      “And Admiral Penistone didn’t approve?”

      “I don’t mean that. I mean, I don’t know. He didn’t say. Only he seemed as though something might have gone a little wrong. Perhaps it was to do with her settlements; she has a good deal of money, as I understand, and the Admiral is—was her trustee. But I really don’t know anything about it.”

      “I see. Had you, yourself, known Admiral Penistone long?”

      “Only since he came here, about a month ago. I called on him, you know; and we got acquainted.”

      “And you saw each other fairly often?”

      “Oh, two or three times in the week, perhaps. Not more.”

      “Ever hear him speak of any enemies—anyone who’d have a reason for killing him?”

      “Oh, no, no!” The Vicar looked shocked, but hastened to add, “Of course, I really know nothing of his life before he came here.”

      “Had he many friends? In the neighbourhood? Or outside? Where did he live before?”

      “Somewhere in the West, I believe. I don’t remember his ever telling me the district. I don’t think he knew many people about here well. Sir Wilfrid Denny, over at West End, saw most of him, I fancy. I believe he had old friends down to meet him, sometimes.”

      “Ever meet any of them yourself?”

      “Oh, no,” said the Vicar.

      “I see. Well, I think I’d better be getting over to his place now,” the Inspector said. “I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Mount. I’ll want to have a word with your sons and your servants some time, just in case any of them noticed anything that might help us. But that can wait. By the way,” he turned at the door to add, “can you tell me what sort of a young lady Miss Fitzgerald is? Liable to—to be very upset, I mean?”

      The Vicar smiled a little, almost in spite of himself. “I shouldn’t think so,” he said. “I don’t think Miss Fitzgerald is at all the fainting type.”

      “Very devoted to her uncle, eh?”

      “I couldn’t say, particularly. About as much as most nieces are to their uncles, I imagine. Perhaps she is rather a reserved young woman—has interests of her own. But this is just gossip—you can see for yourself what you think, Inspector.”

      “That’s true enough. Well, I’ll be going,” the Inspector said, and noted the expression of relief which overspread the Vicar’s face. “I know we aren’t popular visitors,” he thought to himself, “at the best of times. But need he show quite so plainly how glad he is to get rid of me? I wonder if there could be any other reason—if he knows anything more than he’s said. But—the Vicar of Lingham, and a most respectable Vicar, from all I’ve ever heard of him! I must say it doesn’t sound likely.” And, so thinking, he made his way back to the car, and drove rapidly the three miles or so which he had to cover to reach the house a hundred yards away.

      It was close on eight o’clock by the time he reached his destination; but Rundel Croft obviously did not keep early hours. One or two of the windows facing him still had their blinds down; and the hall, when he was admitted to it, was obviously undergoing its matutinal clean-up. A rather down-at-heels butler, of the type which seems to have become a butler because its wife is a good cook and itself has no special ability of any kind, opened the door to him and blinked uneasily in his face. Rudge asked for Miss Fitzgerald, and was told that she was not yet about. Apparently she always breakfasted in bed. Rudge then asked for Admiral Penistone.

      “He’s in his room, still,” the butler said, looking faintly hostile, as though he did not approve of early morning visitors.

      “No, he isn’t,” Rudge said sharply. “He’s had an accident.” The butler goggled at him. “Look here—what’s your name?”

      “Emery.”

      “Look here, Emery, I’m Inspector Rudge СКАЧАТЬ