“Well, he's vanished, you see.”
“Yes, but —”
“Darling, don't keep on saying "yes, but." Use your intelligence. The police don't like people to vanish. It isn't seemly.”
“That's all very well,” said Rumbold, “but the police must have had some reason for suspecting him other than his disappearance—or death, whichever it was.”
“Oh, they had,” agreed Randall. “They discovered that uncle had had dealings with him. So they went to call on him, and he wasn't there. Then they went to look for his papers, and they weren't there either.”
“Weren't where?” asked Rumbold.
“In a safe-deposit. All very mysterious. You ask the Superintendent.”
Mrs Matthews heaved a weary sigh. “I can't see what any of this rigmarole has to do with your aunt's death, Randall.”
“As usual, my dear Aunt Zoë, you hit the nail on the head. It has nothing whatsoever to do with it.”
“Then why do you waste time discussing it?” she said. “Surely —”