At the moment they’re living with old Sir Roderick Horsefield whose sister had married Andrew Restarick’s uncle. But I imagine that’s only temporary. Is any of this news to you? Or do you know it all already?” “I’ve heard most of it,” said Poirot. “Is there any insanity in the family on either side?” “Shouldn’t think so, apart from old Auntie and her fancy religions. And that’s not unusual in a woman who lives alone.” “So all you can tell me really is that there is a lot of money,” said Poirot.
“Lots of money,” said Chief Inspector Neele. “And all quite respectable. Some of it, mark you, Andrew Restarick brought into the firm. South African concessions, mines, mineral deposits. I’d say that by the time these were developed, or placed on the market, there’d be a very large sum of money indeed.” “And who will inherit it?” said Poirot.
“That depends on how Andrew Restarick leaves it. It’s up to him, but I’d say that there’s no one obvious, except his wife and his daughter.” “So they both stand to inherit a very large amount of money one day?” “I should say so. I expect there are a good many family trusts and things like that. All the usual City gambits.” “There is, for instance, no other woman in whom he might be interested?” “Nothing known of such a thing. I shouldn’t think it likely. He’s got a goodlooking new wife.” “A young man,” said Poirot thoughtfully, “could easily learn all this?” ^You mean and marry the daughter?
There’s nothing to stop him, even if she was made a ward of Court or something like that. Of course her father could then disinherit her if he wanted to.” Poirot looked down at a neatly written list in his hand.
“What about the Wedderburn Gallery?” “I wondered how you’d got on to that.
Were you consulted by a client about a forgery?” “Do they deal in forgeries?” “People don’t deal in forgeries,” said Chief Inspector Neele reprovingly.
“There was a rather unpleasant business. A millionaire from Texas over here buying pictures, and paying incredible sums for them. They sold him a Renoir and a Van Gogh. The Renoir was a small head of a girl and there was some query about it.
There seemed no reason to believe that the Wedderburn Gallery had not bought it in the first place in all good faith. There was a case about it. A great many art experts came and gave their verdicts. In fact, as usual, in the end they all seemed to contradict each other. The gallery offered to take it back in any case. However, the millionaire didn’t change his mind, since the latest fashionable expert swore that it was perfectly genuine. So he stuck to it.
All the same there’s been a bit of suspicion hanging round the gallery ever since.” Poirot looked again at his list.
“And what about Mr. David Baker?
Have you looked him up for me?” “Oh, he’s one of the usual mob. Riffraff — go about in gangs and break up night clubs. Live on purple hearts — heroin — Coke — Girls go mad about them. He’s the kind they moan over saying his life has been so hard and he’s such a wonderful genius. His painting is not appreciated. Nothing but good old sex, if you ask me.” Poirot consulted his list again.
“Do you know anything about Mr.
Reece-Holland, m.p.?” “Doing quite well, politically. Got the gift of the gab all right. One or two slightly peculiar transactions in the City, but he’s wriggled out of them quite neatly.
I’d say he was a slippery one. He’s made quite a good deal of money off and on by rather doubtful means.” Poirot came to his last point.
“What about Sir Roderick Horsefield?” “Nice old boy but gaga. What a nose you have, Poirot, get it into everything, don’t you? Yes, there’s been a lot of trouble in the Special Branch. It’s this craze for memoirs. Nobody knows what indiscreet revelations are going to be made next.
All the old boys, service and otherwise, are raving hard to bring out their own particular brand of what they remember of the indiscretions of others! Usually it doesn’t much matter, but sometimes — well, you know. Cabinets change their policies and you don’t want to affront someone’s susceptibilities or give the wrong publicity, so we have to try and muffle the old boys. Some of them are not too easy. But you’ll have to go to the Special Branch if you want to nose into any of that. I shouldn’t think there was much wrong. The trouble is they don’t destroy the papers they should. They keep the lot. However, I don’t think there is much in that, but we have evidence that a certain Power is nosing around.” Poirot gave a deep sigh.