would probably do as much for him and more. But wouldn't it mean a great deal to this dispossessed child to do it for himself?
"How did Alexander come to be your guardian?" Julian asked.
"My mother died two years ago, and my father killed himself when I was three. Neither of them had any close male relatives. Mother was fond of Alexander and asked him to get himself appointed my guardian. He did, through some sort of petition to the Court of Chancery."
"How did you feel about him?"
"I thought he was wonderful."
"In other words, you liked him?"
"Liked him?" Eugene looked puzzled. "You don't understand about Alexander. It's like asking if I liked the King, or the Tower of London. They're splendid, and they're there. Alexander was top of the tree, a non-pareil. He used to come to my room and talk to me sometimes before he went out in the evening. He'd be dressed in his evening clothes, and he'd talk about who he might meet and what they'd do. He was like a hero in a novel. He looked perfect, and everything he said and did was perfect. When he wasn't there, it was hard to believe in him. I mean, that he could be real."
"Do you miss him?"
"I can't believe he's dead."
"You've just said you couldn't believe he was real to begin with."
"Well, if someone isn't real, how can he be killed? What I mean is, I can't imagine someone coming up to him and striking him down, breaking his head—as if he were just anybody. I would have thought he'd have only to smile, and the poker would turn into a feather and not hurt him. I suppose that sounds mad."
"No. I think I understand."
There was a pause. Eugene walked back and forth, biting his nails. The house was very quiet: no sound but the muffled footsteps of servants and the occasional spitting and crackling of the fire. Sir Malcolm had given Julian his study for this interview and gone for a walk—his daily visit to the churchyard, Julian supposed. Mrs. Falkland had gone out riding before Sir Malcolm and Julian arrived.
"I should like to ask you about the night of the murder," Julian said. "You went to bed at eleven?"
"Y-yes."
"And you didn't awaken until your sister and Martha came to tell you about the murder shortly before two?"
Eugene shook his head.
"You didn't hear your sister screaming about an hour earlier?"
"I heard something like 'No, no.' I think I thought it was a dream."
"When you heard Alexander was dead, the first thing you asked was 'How was he killed?' How did you know he'd died by violence?"
"Well—people his age don't just die. Someone or something kills them. Or they kill themselves, as my father did."
"You seem rather fond of reminding people of that."
"People don't need reminding! Everyone knows, and no one ever forgets. At school they were always taunting me with it. They tied me up and waved a razor under my chin and asked me if I wanted to play cards. You don't know what it's like. I don't suppose anything like that ever happened to you when you were my age."
"Nothing quite like that, no."
Eugene regarded him curiously. "Where did you go to school?"
"I was privately educated." And that's enough on that subject, Julian thought. "I take it this is why you didn't want to return to school?"
"I hate school. Belinda and I had an enormous row about it. I don't know why she was so set on being rid of me. I hadn't done anything wrong. And lots of fellows my age are educated at home. But she would send me away, and Alexander had to give in to her in the end."
"Were you angry with him about that?"
"I wouldn't have killed him on account of it!"
"Be so good as to answer the question I asked."
"I was disappointed. I thought he was on my side. But he said it was up to Belinda, as she was my sister, and she'd known me much longer. I was mostly angry at her, not him. But that's past. I can't quarrel with her when she's feeling so wretched. And besides, after Alexander died she said I needn't go back to school before the autumn. I'm hoping she'll give
"How did Alexander come to be your guardian?" Julian asked.
"My mother died two years ago, and my father killed himself when I was three. Neither of them had any close male relatives. Mother was fond of Alexander and asked him to get himself appointed my guardian. He did, through some sort of petition to the Court of Chancery."
"How did you feel about him?"
"I thought he was wonderful."
"In other words, you liked him?"
"Liked him?" Eugene looked puzzled. "You don't understand about Alexander. It's like asking if I liked the King, or the Tower of London. They're splendid, and they're there. Alexander was top of the tree, a non-pareil. He used to come to my room and talk to me sometimes before he went out in the evening. He'd be dressed in his evening clothes, and he'd talk about who he might meet and what they'd do. He was like a hero in a novel. He looked perfect, and everything he said and did was perfect. When he wasn't there, it was hard to believe in him. I mean, that he could be real."
"Do you miss him?"
"I can't believe he's dead."
"You've just said you couldn't believe he was real to begin with."
"Well, if someone isn't real, how can he be killed? What I mean is, I can't imagine someone coming up to him and striking him down, breaking his head—as if he were just anybody. I would have thought he'd have only to smile, and the poker would turn into a feather and not hurt him. I suppose that sounds mad."
"No. I think I understand."
There was a pause. Eugene walked back and forth, biting his nails. The house was very quiet: no sound but the muffled footsteps of servants and the occasional spitting and crackling of the fire. Sir Malcolm had given Julian his study for this interview and gone for a walk—his daily visit to the churchyard, Julian supposed. Mrs. Falkland had gone out riding before Sir Malcolm and Julian arrived.
"I should like to ask you about the night of the murder," Julian said. "You went to bed at eleven?"
"Y-yes."
"And you didn't awaken until your sister and Martha came to tell you about the murder shortly before two?"
Eugene shook his head.
"You didn't hear your sister screaming about an hour earlier?"
"I heard something like 'No, no.' I think I thought it was a dream."
"When you heard Alexander was dead, the first thing you asked was 'How was he killed?' How did you know he'd died by violence?"
"Well—people his age don't just die. Someone or something kills them. Or they kill themselves, as my father did."
"You seem rather fond of reminding people of that."
"People don't need reminding! Everyone knows, and no one ever forgets. At school they were always taunting me with it. They tied me up and waved a razor under my chin and asked me if I wanted to play cards. You don't know what it's like. I don't suppose anything like that ever happened to you when you were my age."
"Nothing quite like that, no."
Eugene regarded him curiously. "Where did you go to school?"
"I was privately educated." And that's enough on that subject, Julian thought. "I take it this is why you didn't want to return to school?"
"I hate school. Belinda and I had an enormous row about it. I don't know why she was so set on being rid of me. I hadn't done anything wrong. And lots of fellows my age are educated at home. But she would send me away, and Alexander had to give in to her in the end."
"Were you angry with him about that?"
"I wouldn't have killed him on account of it!"
"Be so good as to answer the question I asked."
"I was disappointed. I thought he was on my side. But he said it was up to Belinda, as she was my sister, and she'd known me much longer. I was mostly angry at her, not him. But that's past. I can't quarrel with her when she's feeling so wretched. And besides, after Alexander died she said I needn't go back to school before the autumn. I'm hoping she'll give
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