Any Shape or Form by Elizabeth Daly

something, too.”
    â€œI must say I thought better of Reina Debenham. Mrs. Malcolm was flighty and odd. That’s all.”
    â€œWas she the kind to make enemies, would you say?”
    â€œI don’t really know. I only met her twice. Enemies?” Miss Ryder pondered. “She certainly wasn’t tactful.” Then she cast a hasty glance at Gamadge, who was looking at the fire, and added: “But people aren’t murdered for tactlessness, fortunately for us all.”
    â€œWonder why the servants disliked her so much.”
    â€œJohnny Redfield did say that she gave a good deal of trouble; required waiting on, and didn’t like Reina’s coffee, which is delicious but a trifle more roasted than we get it. Reina roasted it herself, when she could get the beans.”
    â€œDid Mrs. Malcolm talk to you about that companion of hers, that Miss Gouch?”
    â€œI think she did, once, last July. In the course of conversation.”
    â€œDid you get any impression that there was ill feeling there? Mr. Redfield seemed to think that Miss Gouch was treated rather shabbily by Mrs. Malcolm because she insulted her religion—that sun cult, you know, or whatever it was.”
    â€œReligion?” Miss Ryder looked aloof and vague. “Would you call it a religion? I’m Anglican-Catholic myself, and rather high.”
    Mosson interposed gravely: “You evidently didn’t have much in common with the deceased, Miss Ryder.”
    â€œNothing at all,” said Abigail cheerfully, “so far as tastes go.”
    â€œShe didn’t talk about this Miss Gouch in a way that made you think Miss Gouch was an enemy?” asked Griggs.
    â€œNo,” said Abigail, rather startled. “She didn’t at all. She was rather complimentary about her, as I remember the conversation.”
    â€œNow these young Malcolms.”
    â€œLieutenant,” said Abigail, “I cannot believe that either of them would commit a crime. I don’t know them well, of course; I’ve barely met them. I haven’t exchanged twenty words with either of them since they first began coming up here to stay with Johnny Redfield. But they’re both highly educated and well-bred, and such people simply do not murder people all of a sudden. They can’t. It isn’t possible.”
    â€œNot all of a sudden, no.”
    â€œIf you’re thinking about the way they felt towards their stepmother, then I can only say that millions of people feel like that, and don’t commit murder.”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking about the way they felt towards their stepmother, Miss Ryder.”
    â€œYou’re thinking about the money.”
    â€œYes. That’s the big motive for murder.”
    â€œWell, all I can say is that two people who behaved less as though they meant to commit a murder…”
    â€œCan’t go by that, can we?”
    â€œOf course, Miss Ryder,” said Mosson, “we can’t expect you to look at these things as we professionals do. But you suggest an insane criminal; I suggest—off the record—that a young person with a grudge can nurse that grudge until there’s nothing else left for him in life. Or for her. I can think of two feminine examples, and one of them was only sixteen. And both were members of the upper-middle-class, and to this day a lot of people—in spite of the sixteen-year-old’s confession—can’t believe she did it. Here we have a big stake in money besides the other motive; I shouldn’t be at all surprised to find that something very like insanity might have developed. Hasn’t this young Malcolm a head injury that never got well?”
    Abigail, looking deeply depressed, said that he had. “But don’t call him insane, Mr. Mosson! You ought to hear him talk. He’s as cool and chatty as if—as if nothing had happened.”
    â€œIn his present circumstances,” said