"My dear child," I said, "you're working yourself up unnecessarily. What it comes to in the end is that everybody, perhaps, is B capable of murder."
"I suppose that's true. Even me."
"Not you!"
"Oh yes, Charles, you can't make me an exception. I suppose I could murder someone …" She was silent a moment or two, then added, "But if so, it would have to be for something really worth while!" | I laughed then. I couldn't help it. And Sophia smiled.
"Perhaps I'm a fool," she said, "but we've got to find out the truth about grandfather's death. We've got to. If only it was Brenda…"
I felt suddenly rather sorry for Brenda Leonides.
Five
Along the path towards us came a tall figure walking briskly. It had on a battered old felt hat, a shapeless skirt 5 and a rather cumbersome jersey.
"Aunt Edith," said Sophia.
The figure paused once or twice, stooping to the flower borders, then it advanced upon us. I rose to my feet.
"This is Charles Hayward, Aunt Edith.
My aunt. Miss de Haviland."
Edith de Haviland was a woman of about seventy. She had a mass of untidy grey hair, a weather beaten face and a shrewd and piercing glance.
"How d'ye do?" she said. "I've heard about you. Back from the East. How's your father?"
Rather surprised, I said he was very well.
"Knew him when he was a boy," said
Miss de Haviland. "Knew his mother very well. You look rather like her. Have you come to help us - or the other thing?"
"I hope to help," I said rather uncomfortably.
She nodded.
"We could do with some help. Place swarming with policemen. Pop out at you all over the place. Don't like some of the types. A boy who's been to a decent school oughtn't to go into the police. Saw Moyra Kinoul's boy the other day holding up the traffic at Marble Arch. Makes you feel you don't know where you are!"