truth is, James hardly spoke to her when we were out in the gardens. Oh, they may have vaguely discussed marriage. James may have even dropped a hint or two about it yesterday afternoon. But an official engagement? No. As I said, our relationship with the man was one of business.”
“What about Miss Collier’s relationship?” the inspector pressed. She’d been most adamant on the subject, although not particularly coherent. She had been very difficult to question. She’d kept dissolving into tears. Still, the onething they had managed to get out of her was that she and James Underhill had decided to marry. Yesterday afternoon. Right before Underhill was murdered. The inspector had rather admired the way she’d popped into the drawing room as soon as they’d finished questioning Arthur. Red faced and teary eyed, she’d demanded they listen to her.
“Relationship?” Mary smiled sadly. “The only relationship Helen had with James Underhill was in her imagination. My sister makes her home with us. But she comes and goes as she pleases. I don’t particularly know how or why she developed this affection for Mr. Underhill, but I assure you, it wasn’t mutual. He wouldn’t have proposed to her. Not under any circumstances.”
Witherspoon thought that a rather harsh assessment. Miss Collier was past the first blush of youth, but that didn’t mean she was unmarriageable. “Why ever not?”
“Because she’s no money,” Mary replied bluntly. “No dowry, no property, nothing but a small yearly income which wouldn’t be enough to keep her if she didn’t live with Neville and I.”
“Perhaps Mr. Underhill planned to support her,” Barnes suggested dryly.
Mary stared at him a moment and then laughed. “James Underhill loved only one thing in this world, Constable, and it wasn’t my sister. It was art. He’d never have married a virtually penniless woman, even if he was in love with her. James was like one of those dreadfully pathetic opium eaters. Only instead of opium, his need was for beauty.”
“Not money?” Witherspoon queried.
“Money was only useful to him as a means of acquiring art,” she replied.
“Does he have an extensive art collection?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “He couldn’t afford any truly valuable paintings, but he fancied himself talented at spotting undiscovered genius in others. James was always picking up pieces here and there on the cheap. His collection is quite extensive in size, but nonetheless quite worthless in value, I assure you.”
Witherspoon made a mental note to have a look at Underhill’s collection himself. “You’ve stated your relationship with Mr. Underhill was strictly business, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Did you acquiesce to your stepson’s request to invite Mr. Underhill to tea because of the pending sale to Mr. Modean?” Witherspoon asked.
“When Arthur asked if he could invite James to tea, I thought it a good idea to have him come. James knows much about what a piece is really worth. Actually, I wanted Neville to have a chat with James before he sold the paintings,” Mary explained. “I wasn’t sure the American was going to pay what they were really worth. My husband is a bit naive when it comes to art.”
Witherspoon tried to hide his surprise. Neville Grant didn’t look in the least naive about anything. “Did your husband talk with Mr. Underhill?”
“No,” Mary admitted with a sad smile. “There wasn’t time. James was late. By the time he arrived, my husband and Mr. Modean had already come to an arrangement.”
“You mean that Mr. Modean now owns the paintings?” Witherspoon asked.
“I’m not sure.” She stiffened slightly. “Neville refused to discuss it with me.”
The inspector didn’t know what to ask next. He was getting very muddled, very muddled indeed. But, mindful of his housekeeper’s always sound advice, he trusted his“inner voice” and pressed on, asking any question that popped into his
“What about Miss Collier’s relationship?” the inspector pressed. She’d been most adamant on the subject, although not particularly coherent. She had been very difficult to question. She’d kept dissolving into tears. Still, the onething they had managed to get out of her was that she and James Underhill had decided to marry. Yesterday afternoon. Right before Underhill was murdered. The inspector had rather admired the way she’d popped into the drawing room as soon as they’d finished questioning Arthur. Red faced and teary eyed, she’d demanded they listen to her.
“Relationship?” Mary smiled sadly. “The only relationship Helen had with James Underhill was in her imagination. My sister makes her home with us. But she comes and goes as she pleases. I don’t particularly know how or why she developed this affection for Mr. Underhill, but I assure you, it wasn’t mutual. He wouldn’t have proposed to her. Not under any circumstances.”
Witherspoon thought that a rather harsh assessment. Miss Collier was past the first blush of youth, but that didn’t mean she was unmarriageable. “Why ever not?”
“Because she’s no money,” Mary replied bluntly. “No dowry, no property, nothing but a small yearly income which wouldn’t be enough to keep her if she didn’t live with Neville and I.”
“Perhaps Mr. Underhill planned to support her,” Barnes suggested dryly.
Mary stared at him a moment and then laughed. “James Underhill loved only one thing in this world, Constable, and it wasn’t my sister. It was art. He’d never have married a virtually penniless woman, even if he was in love with her. James was like one of those dreadfully pathetic opium eaters. Only instead of opium, his need was for beauty.”
“Not money?” Witherspoon queried.
“Money was only useful to him as a means of acquiring art,” she replied.
“Does he have an extensive art collection?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “He couldn’t afford any truly valuable paintings, but he fancied himself talented at spotting undiscovered genius in others. James was always picking up pieces here and there on the cheap. His collection is quite extensive in size, but nonetheless quite worthless in value, I assure you.”
Witherspoon made a mental note to have a look at Underhill’s collection himself. “You’ve stated your relationship with Mr. Underhill was strictly business, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Did you acquiesce to your stepson’s request to invite Mr. Underhill to tea because of the pending sale to Mr. Modean?” Witherspoon asked.
“When Arthur asked if he could invite James to tea, I thought it a good idea to have him come. James knows much about what a piece is really worth. Actually, I wanted Neville to have a chat with James before he sold the paintings,” Mary explained. “I wasn’t sure the American was going to pay what they were really worth. My husband is a bit naive when it comes to art.”
Witherspoon tried to hide his surprise. Neville Grant didn’t look in the least naive about anything. “Did your husband talk with Mr. Underhill?”
“No,” Mary admitted with a sad smile. “There wasn’t time. James was late. By the time he arrived, my husband and Mr. Modean had already come to an arrangement.”
“You mean that Mr. Modean now owns the paintings?” Witherspoon asked.
“I’m not sure.” She stiffened slightly. “Neville refused to discuss it with me.”
The inspector didn’t know what to ask next. He was getting very muddled, very muddled indeed. But, mindful of his housekeeper’s always sound advice, he trusted his“inner voice” and pressed on, asking any question that popped into his
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