Crooked House by Agatha Christie Page A

brushed them all aside with the same characteristic eager impatience.
    I saw the faint sardonic smile on Chief Inspector Taverner's face, and read from it the thought in his mind.
    “Always sure of themselves, these chaps. They can't make a mistake. They're far too clever!”
    I sat down unobtrusively in a corner and listened.
    “I have asked you to come here, Mr Leonides,” my father said, “not to give you fresh information, but to ask for some information from you - information that you have previously withheld.”
    Roger Leonides looked bewildered.
    “Withheld? But I've told you everything - absolutely everything!”
    “I think not. You had a conversation with the deceased on the afternoon of his death?”
    “Yes, yes, I had tea with him. I told you so.”
    “You told us that, yes, but you did not tell us about your conversation.”
    “We - just - talked.”
    “What about?”
    “Daily happenings, the house, Sophia -”
    “What about Associated Catering? Was that mentioned?”
    I think I had hoped up to then that Josephine had been inventing the whole story - but if so, that hope was quickly quenched.
    Roger's face changed. It changed in a moment from eagerness to something that was recognisably close to despair.
    “Oh my God,” he said. He dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
    Taverner smiled like a contented cat.
    “You admit, Mr Leonides, that you have not been frank with us?”
    “How did you get to know about that? I thought nobody knew - I don't see how anybody could know.”
    “We have means of finding out these things, Mr Leonides.” There was a majestic pause. “I think you will see now that you had better tell us the truth.”
    “Yes, yes, of course. I'll tell you. What do you want to know?”
    “Is it true that Associated Catering is on the verge of collapse?”
    “Yes. It can't be staved off now. The crash is bound to come. If only my father could have died without ever knowing. I feel so ashamed - so disgraced -”
    “There is a possibility of criminal prosecution?”
    Roger sat up sharply.
    “No, indeed. It will be bankruptcy - but an honourable bankruptcy. Creditors will be paid twenty shillings in the pound if I throw in my personal assets which I shall do. No, the disgrace I feel is to have failed my father. He trusted me. He made over to me this, his largest concern - and his pet concern. He never interfered, he never asked what I was doing. He just - trusted me... And I let him down.”
    My father said drily:
    “You say there was no likelihood of criminal prosecution? Why then, had you and your wife planned to go abroad without telling anybody of your intention?”
    “You know that, too?”
    “Yes, Mr Leonides.”
    “But don't you see?” He leaned forward eagerly. “I couldn't face him with the truth. It would have looked, you see, as if I was asking for money? As though I wanted him to set me on my feet again. He - he was very fond of me. He would have wanted to help. But I couldn't - I couldn't go on - it would have meant making a mess of things all over again - I'm no good. I haven't got the ability. I'm not the man my father was. I've always known it. I've tried. But it's no good. I've been so miserable - God! you don't know how miserable I've been! Trying to get out of the muddle, hoping I'd just get square, hoping the dear old man would never need hear about it. And then it came - no more hope of avoiding the crash. Clemency - my wife - she understood, she agreed with me. We thought out this plan. Say nothing to anyone. Go away. And then let the storm break. I'd leave a letter for my father, telling him all about it - telling him how ashamed I was and begging him to forgive me. He's been so good to me always - you don't know! But it would be too late then for him to do anything. That's what I wanted. Not to ask him - or even to seem to ask him for help. Start again on my own somewhere. Live simply and humbly. Grow things. Coffee - fruit. Just have the