about it; indeed, not altogether sane. He told me several times over that he had in his possession what would cook their bloody goose at any time in their succeeding lives; and that he was capable of playing cat and mouse with them; and biding his time with them, and not striking until he could strike to kill. I’m bound to say I didn’t find it all much worth listening to. And it’s probably not worthwhile your hearing about it now. It’s past history, after all.’
‘I’m grateful to you, all the same.’ Appleby found himself taking another sharp look at Plumridge. ‘I think this conversation is likely to be interrupted at any moment now. But may I ask you about one other thing? Here is a man of property, shot dead in the very act, so to speak, of turning up to claim it – or, at least, possibly to claim it. So one has to consider…’
‘But what can this line of thought have to do with more or less petty robbery of pictures, and bits of silver, and high-class knick-knackery of one sort and another?’
‘I see that you at least understand what I’m talking about. But the robbery, you know, might be a mere blind. Or what we are confronting may be sheer coincidence. Or not – come to think of it – exactly that, since this particular night may be regarded as offering special scope for more kinds of crime than one. In any case, it’s plainly essential to know about who benefits from the death of Adrian Snodgrass – benefits, that is, in the most obvious financial way. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Of course not.’ Plumridge had admitted a note of impatience into his voice. ‘I’m the family doctor, you know, and not the family lawyer. I’ve no idea what entail – if that’s the term – still exists, or what trusts or settlements; or what Adrian’s will may prove to say – supposing he has made one, and has in fact owned a substantial power of bequest. Professor Snodgrass might give you a notion – presuming he’s willing to be communicative about the matter.’
‘Thank you. No doubt he’s the proper person to answer the question – and the police who have just arrived are the proper people to ask it. But as for being communicative, Doctor, I judge it improbable that anybody is going to have much choice. Except, conceivably, yourself.’
‘My dear Sir John, may I ask what you mean by that?’
‘I refer to what’s called professional confidence. It’s just possible, isn’t it, that you may have relevant information – relevant, I mean, strictly to the clearing up of this crime – which you might have to ask yourself questions about in that regard? I believe I could ask you such a question now.’ Appleby had risen to his feet, for there were voices at the far end of the quadrant corridor. ‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, of course. I take your point. But it stands to reason that I shall want to help in every possible way.’ Plumridge got up and stood with his back to that now fast-dying fire which had been kindled for Adrian Snodgrass’ return to the home of his fathers. ‘So go ahead.’
‘That young man who came to fetch his mother, and who tells me his name is David Anglebury. Is there any chance that he is Adrian Snodgrass’ illegitimate son?’
‘I see.’ Plumridge’s expression had become grave. ‘Well, it is obvious that there is always a chance of such a thing. To put it crudely, any man may be the father of any child with whose mother he could conceivably have had sexual relations within a given stretch of time. And you would quickly find, I think, that the possibility applies to Adrian Snodgrass and this particular young man’s mother. But that just doesn’t begin to be evidence.’
‘Of course not.’ Appleby was moving towards the door. ‘And there’s nothing more you can say about it?’
‘Not without a little thought.’ Plumridge paused on this expression, as if weighing it carefully. And it appeared to satisfy him, because he repeated it at the open
‘I’m grateful to you, all the same.’ Appleby found himself taking another sharp look at Plumridge. ‘I think this conversation is likely to be interrupted at any moment now. But may I ask you about one other thing? Here is a man of property, shot dead in the very act, so to speak, of turning up to claim it – or, at least, possibly to claim it. So one has to consider…’
‘But what can this line of thought have to do with more or less petty robbery of pictures, and bits of silver, and high-class knick-knackery of one sort and another?’
‘I see that you at least understand what I’m talking about. But the robbery, you know, might be a mere blind. Or what we are confronting may be sheer coincidence. Or not – come to think of it – exactly that, since this particular night may be regarded as offering special scope for more kinds of crime than one. In any case, it’s plainly essential to know about who benefits from the death of Adrian Snodgrass – benefits, that is, in the most obvious financial way. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Of course not.’ Plumridge had admitted a note of impatience into his voice. ‘I’m the family doctor, you know, and not the family lawyer. I’ve no idea what entail – if that’s the term – still exists, or what trusts or settlements; or what Adrian’s will may prove to say – supposing he has made one, and has in fact owned a substantial power of bequest. Professor Snodgrass might give you a notion – presuming he’s willing to be communicative about the matter.’
‘Thank you. No doubt he’s the proper person to answer the question – and the police who have just arrived are the proper people to ask it. But as for being communicative, Doctor, I judge it improbable that anybody is going to have much choice. Except, conceivably, yourself.’
‘My dear Sir John, may I ask what you mean by that?’
‘I refer to what’s called professional confidence. It’s just possible, isn’t it, that you may have relevant information – relevant, I mean, strictly to the clearing up of this crime – which you might have to ask yourself questions about in that regard? I believe I could ask you such a question now.’ Appleby had risen to his feet, for there were voices at the far end of the quadrant corridor. ‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, of course. I take your point. But it stands to reason that I shall want to help in every possible way.’ Plumridge got up and stood with his back to that now fast-dying fire which had been kindled for Adrian Snodgrass’ return to the home of his fathers. ‘So go ahead.’
‘That young man who came to fetch his mother, and who tells me his name is David Anglebury. Is there any chance that he is Adrian Snodgrass’ illegitimate son?’
‘I see.’ Plumridge’s expression had become grave. ‘Well, it is obvious that there is always a chance of such a thing. To put it crudely, any man may be the father of any child with whose mother he could conceivably have had sexual relations within a given stretch of time. And you would quickly find, I think, that the possibility applies to Adrian Snodgrass and this particular young man’s mother. But that just doesn’t begin to be evidence.’
‘Of course not.’ Appleby was moving towards the door. ‘And there’s nothing more you can say about it?’
‘Not without a little thought.’ Plumridge paused on this expression, as if weighing it carefully. And it appeared to satisfy him, because he repeated it at the open