Crooked Wreath by Christianna Brand Page B

Briggs murdered Sir Richard because he just couldn’t bear to draft out any more wills, I must remind you that several of the family saw Sir Richard alive afterwards …”
    â€œThank you,” said Cockrill. “You’re most helpful. However, I don’t think we need trouble much about Briggs, I must say.”
    Stephen asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. “Anything turned up about this missing poison?”
    â€œNo, nothing. My men are searching the place from top to bottom, the house and the grounds; but there’re acres of it, indoors and out! Of course, nobody admits seeing the stuff after it was shown to them all and put back into the bag.” He looked Stephen straight in the eye. “Between you and me, Garde–there’s very little doubt that this is a case of murder, and by one of the family.” He dropped his eyes, fumbling with the inevitable cigarette. “I’m sorry about it; I hate it–but there it is.”
    â€œSomebody could have come in from outside,” suggested Stephen uncertainly. “The old boy was a bit peppery; he must have had some ill-wishers.”
    Cockrill tossed away the match. “Don’t fool yourself, my dear boy. The family and the gardener were on the front terrace practically the whole of the afternoon or in the garden on this side of the house; who do you suppose took the risk of walking in, in broad sunny daylight, going straight to a bag he couldn’t have known was in the drawing-room, and selecting from the bag two drugs which he couldn’t have known were there?”
    â€œThe family didn’t know that the strychnine was there.”
    â€œThe family had time to look for it. The family could have gone to the bag for the other stuff, and noticed the strychnine and taken that also. I must say,” admitted Cockrill, “the disappearance of that strychnine makes me feel sick.” He stopped and then said, abruptly: “What’s your opinion of Edward Treviss? All this psychological twaddle, I mean.”
    Stephen was horrified by the obvious train of thought. “You’re not trying to pin anything on that poor kid?”
    â€œI’m not trying to pin anything onto anybody. But I’m frightened.” He drew deeply on his cigarette and flung the stub on the ground and stamped on it. “Leaving aside all question of Sir Richard’s death, somebody in this house has a lethal dose of strychnine in his possession; and somebody in this house is supposed to be not responsible for his actions. Supposing that boy is really mad! Supposing there has already been one murder!” He turned away towards the lodge and seemed about to resume his work on the footsteps in the sand. “ I can’t do anything about it,” he said. “ I can’t just shove the boy somewhere to keep him from doing some mischief. I must just work and work to find out what really did happen, and be able to present a case for having him put away …”
    â€œ If he’s unhinged; but, of course, he may not be …”
    â€œJust as you like,” said Cockrill, impatiently. “If he isn’t, then Lady March or Peta or Claire or Philip or Philip’s wife–one of those five–is a cruel and calculating murderer. You pays your money and you takes your choice.” And he put his small brown hand suddenly on Stephen’s shoulder. “This is no time for sentimentality; there’s hideous, horrible danger in the air …”
    Up at the house, Claire and Peta came across Edward, poking about among the plants in the conservatory. “What on earth are you doing, Teddy?”
    â€œLooking for the poison,” said Edward. After a moment, he added: “I thought perhaps I–if I took it, I might have hidden it somewhere here. It seems a good place.”
    â€œIf you … Oh, Edward darling ,” said Claire, almost running to him, putting