Guy broke the silence. “You—don't—want—uncle's—money?” he repeated. “What rot! I never heard such a tale!”
He burst out laughing, but Hannasyde's voice cut through his laughter. “That is very interesting, Mr Matthews. May I know why you don't want your inheritance?”
“It's as plain as a pikestaff!” said Guy scornfully. “He said it so that no one should suspect him of having poisoned uncle.”
“Thank you,” said Hannasyde. “But I spoke to your cousin, Mr Matthews, not to you.”
Randall was frowningly regarding the tip of his cigarette. He raised his eyes when Hannasyde spoke, and answered pensively: “Well, do you know, I like to shock my family now and then, my dear Superintendent.”
“You did not by any chance mean what you said to Miss Stella Matthews?”
Randall's lip curled sardonically. “Is it possible that anyone could wish to be rid of a large fortune?” he said mockingly. “The answer is to be read in my relatives' expressive countenances. They are more profoundly shocked than if it had been proved to them that I murdered my uncle and my aunt.” He moved towards the table and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that stood on it. “However, what I mean to do with my inheritance is not in the least relevant to the matter on hand. You mustn't think that I don't know how much you would like my deplorable relatives to continue their artless and revealing discussions, but—I think not, Superintendent: I think not! Let us stick to my aunt's death, shall we? You do not really believe that I had any hand in that—ah, setting aside my cousin Stella's engaging theory, of course. You suspect, and so does my dear Aunt Gertrude, that my clever Aunt Zoë is the guilty party. I don't blame you in the least. I will even go so far as to say that I don't blame my dear Aunt Gertrude either. With her own fair hands my clever aunt built up the case against herself, and I must say it does her credit. It worries you, doesn't it, Superintendent? My Aunt Harriet's death has upset a cherished theory of your own; in fact, it is quite out of order.”
He paused, but Hannasyde only said: “Go on, Mr Matthews.”
“It worried me too,” Randall said. “But I have slightly the advantage of you. I know more about the eccentricities of my family. I admit, I was quite at sea until I heard how the poison had been administered. But an idea has occurred to me.” He looked round the room. “Do any of you know what became of Uncle Gregory's tube of toothpaste?” he inquired.
No one answered for a moment; blank faces stared at him. Then Stella's chair rasped on the polished floor as she suddenly sprang up.