Crooked House / Скрюченный домишко. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Clemency Leonides said with a very faint smile:

�Really, you know, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Taverner accepted her remark politely.

Then he started on his so-called routine questions.

Clemency Leonides replied concisely and accurately.

Roger Leonides had been in London on the day of his father’s death at Box House, the headquarters of the Associated Catering. He had returned early in the afternoon and had spent some time with his father as was his custom. She herself had been, as usual, at the Lambert Institute in Gower Street where she worked.

She had returned to the house just before six o’clock.

�Did you see your father-in-law?’

�No. The last time I saw him was on the day before. We had coffee with him after dinner.’

�But you did not see him on the day of his death?’

�No. I actually went over to his part of the house because Roger thought he had left his pipe there—a very precious pipe, but as it happened he had left it on the hall table there, so I did not need to disturb the old man.

He often dozed off[72 - to doze off – вздремнуть] about six.’

�When did you hear of his illness?’

�Brenda came rushing over. That was just a mi nute or two after half-past six.’

These questions, as I knew, were unimportant, but I was aware how keen was Inspector Taverner’s scrutiny of the woman who answered them. He asked her a few questions about the nature of her work in London. She said that it had to do with the radiation effects of atomic disintegration.

�You work on the atom bomb, in fact?’

�The work has nothing destructive about it. The Institute is carrying out experiments on the therapeutic effects.’

When Taverner got up, he expressed a wish to look round their part of the house. She seemed a little surprised, but showed him its extent readily enough. The bedroom with its twin beds and white coverlets and its simplified toilet appliances reminded me again of a hospital or some monastic cell.

The bathroom, too, was severely plain with no special luxury fitting and no array of cosmetics. The kitchen was bare, spotlessly clean, and well equipped with labour-saving devices of a practical kind. Then we came to a door which Clemency opened, saying: �This is my husband’s special room.’

�Come in,’ said Roger. �Come in.’

I drew a faint breath of relief. Something in the spotless austerity elsewhere had been getting me down.