"Inexplicable!" pronounced Major Bolton, but not, it was gathered, with reference to Hemingway's polite remark. "You'd better go through it from the start. Take a chair!"
Hemingway obeyed this invitation, nodded to his Sergeant to follow his example, and turned a bright, enquiring eye upon the Major.
"The murdered man," said Major Bolton, "was a wealthy bachelor. He bought Lexham Manor some years ago. Sort of show-place: oak panelling, and that kind of thing. Cost a packet: never could make out why he wanted it. Not that sort of man, on the face of it. Made his money in trade. Head of a firm of importers, but been a sleeping-partner for some years now. East Indian stuff spices, and that kind of thing. Mind you, I'm not saying he was a self-made man! Perfectly respectable family, and all that. Don't know anything about his parents: believe the father was a country solicitor. There were three children: Nathaniel, the murdered man, Matthew, and Joseph. Matthew doesn't come into it. Dead for years. His widow's in America, with her third husband. Never met the lady myself, but I know her children. They're both in it, up to the neck. Couple of years ago, Joseph - bit of a rolling-stone: no harm in him, but a feckless sort of a fellow - came home from wherever he'd been - South America, I believe, but that's nothing: he's been all over the world at one time or another - and took up his residence at Lexham Manor. Never had much use for Nat Herriard myself, but to give him his due, he treated his family well. Better than any of 'em deserved, if you ask me. Not that there's anything against Joseph. What you might call a wellmeaning ass. Sort of Peter Pan, if you get my meaning. Got a wife. Gossip says he picked her up out of the chorus. Don't know anything about that. Colourless kind of woman. Pretty once, run to fat now. Never could make anything of her. Either deep as the devil, or a born fool. Know the type?"
The Inspector nodded. "I do, sir, and what's more I wish I didn't."
Major Bolton gave a snort of laughter. "Mind you, I haven't anything on her, and I don't myself see her sticking a knife into her brother-in-law. All the same, no one in these parts could ever understand her consenting to live at Lexham, sponging on Nat. However, she's a placid kind of a woman, and I daresay she'd had enough of roaming about the world with Joseph. Tiresome sort of man, Joseph. No money-sense. No sense at all, if you ask me. Ever see a play called Dear Brutus?"
"Barrie," responded the Inspector. "If you've a taste for him, it's in his best manner. Myself -"
"Well, Joe's always put me in mind of one of the characters in it," said the Chief Constable, ruthlessly interrupting what Sergeant Ware knew would have been a pithy lecture on the Drama. "Silly old footler who danced about in a wood. Know the one I mean?"
"Coade," said Hemingway.
"Well, I'm a plain man myself," said the Chief Constable, conveying in these simple words his contempt for all whimsies. "However, they say it takes all sorts to make a world. Next we come to Stephen and Paula Herriard. They're Nat's nephew and niece, Matthew's children. Always treated Lexham Manor as a second home. I know 'em both, and I don't like either of 'em. Stephen's a rough-tongued young man with no manners, and not enough to do; and Paula - nice-looking girl, if you like that stormy type - is on the stage. Both got small private means: enough to make 'em independent, but not enough to make a splash with. It's always been assumed that Stephen was Nat's heir. Stands to reason he would be. Only a few months ago he got engaged to a girl. Never set eyes on her myself, but Nat couldn't stand her. Said she was a gold-digger. Daresay he was right. You didn't take to her, did you,, Colwall?"
"No, sir. Silly little thing, and not, in my opinion, the right sort for a gentleman to marry."