Part 22 (1/2)

Susan went towards the front door and Miss Gilchrist hovered uncertainly. Susan wondered whether she thought a man with a hatchet was waiting outside.

The visitor, however proved to be an elderly gentleman who raised his hat when Susan opened the door and said, beaming at her in avuncular style.

”Mrs. Banks, I think ?” ”Yes.”

”My name is Guthrie--Alexander Guthrie. I was a friend --a very old friend, of Mrs. Lansquenet's. You, I think, axe her niece, formerly Miss Susan Abernethie ?”

”That's quite right.”

”Then since we know who we are, I may come in ?” ”Of course.” Mr. Guthrie wiped his feet carefully on the mat, stepped inside, divested himself of his overcoat, laid it down with his 79

hat on a small oak chest anc1 flod Susan into the sitting.

room ”This is a melancholy cOCcsi0,” said Mr. Guthrie, to .wh.o.m melancholy did not ,sm t0come naturally, his own inclination being to beam. ' es, avery melancholy occasion. I was in this part of the worlld adl felt the least I could do

as to attend the inquest--a?nd of,ourse the funeral. Poor ora--poor foolish Cora. I na. we own her, my dear Mrs.

B. anks, since the early days ocr. her, arriae. A high-spirited glr!--and she took art very seriOUSly-took Pierre Lansquenet s.e. no,u, sly, too--as an artist, I : ean. fill things considered he dldn t make her too bad a hu and. He strayed, if you know what I mean, yes, he strayeclbutortunately Cora took it as part of the artistic tempeamem. He was an artist and therefore immor! In fact I'm not sure she didn't go further: he was immoral and therefore he must be an artist I No kind of sense in artistic cnatte, poor Cora--though in other ways, mind you, Cora ad a lot of sense--yes, a surprising lot of sense.”

”That's what everybody sems to say,” said Susan. ”X didn't really know her.”

”No, no, cut herself off fror her family because they didn't appreciate her precious Pierre. e was never a pretty ffirl but she had something. She w's goo company 1 You never knew what she'd say next and[ you ever knew if her naivetd was-genuine or whether she xsrs, doiag it deliberatel.y,,. She mad.e us all laugh a good deal. ne ,eternal child--that s what we always felt about her. Anciny the last time I saw her (I have seen her from time to t.i.tm ncc Pierre died) she struck me as still behaving very muclx like a child”

Susan offered Mr. Guth' rie a cigarette, but he old gentleman shook his head.

”No thank you, my dear. I doa't smoke. You must wonder why I've come ? To t11 y.ou the truth I was feeling rather conscience-stricken. I pfamSe Cora to come and see her, some weeks ag,o. I usually.,ca d upon her once a year, anct just lately she d taken up ,ne n0bby of buying pictures at local sales, and wanted me o look at some of them. My profe, ssion is that of art critic, you know. Of course most of Cora s purchases were horrible daubs, but take it all in all, it is.,n't such a bad speculation, l,ictures go for next to nothing

trese country sales and the -rames alone are worth more a,.you, pay for the picture, la.tur?lly any important sale s attenced by dealers and one sn t likely to get hold of masterpieces. But only the other dy, a small Cuyp was 80

knocked down for a few pounds at a farmhouse sale. The history of it was quit.e, int,ere?ting. It had been given to an old nurse by the mmuy sne rand served faithfully for many l ears--they had no idea of it:s value. Old nurse gave it to armer nephew who liked the horse in it but thought it was a dirty old thing I Yes, yes, t:hese things sometimes happen, and Cora was convinced that she had an eye for pictures.

She hadn't, of course. Wantmd me to come and look at a Rembrandt she had picked the last year. A Rembrandt l Not even a respectable copy of! ne I But she had got hold of a quite nice Bartolozzi englravingamp spotted unfortunately.

I sold it for her fo,r thirty pounds and of course that spurred her on. She wrote to me with great gusto about an Italian Primitive she had[ bought at some sale and I promised I'd come along and See it.”

”That's it over there, I ex[oect,” said Susan, gesturing to the wall behind him.

Mr. Guthrie got up, put on a pair of spectacles, and went over to study the picture.

”Poor dear Cora,” he said a.t last.

”There are a lot more,” said Susan. Mr. Guthrie proceeded to a leisurely inspection of the art treasures acquired by the hoDeful l[rs. Lansquenet. Occasionally he said, ”Tchk, Tchk,” occasionally he sighed.

Finally he removed his spectacles.

”Dirt,” he said, ”is a won'derful thing, Mrs. Banks I It gives a patina of romance to the most horrible examples of the painter's art. I'm afraid that Bartolozzi was beginner's luck.

Poor Cora. Still it gave her a,n interest in life. I am really thankful that I did not have to disillusion her.”

”There are some pictures in, the dining-room,” said Susan, ”but I think they are all her husband's work.”

Mr. Guthrie shuddered slightly and held up a protesting hand.

”Do not force me to look at those again. Life cla.s.ses have much to answer for I I alwaya tried to spare Cora's feelings.

A devoted wife--a very devoted wife. Well, dear Mrs. Banks, I must not take up more of yaur time.”

”Oh, do stay and have some tea. I think it's nearly ready.”

”That is very kind of you.” Mr. Guthrie sat down again promptly.

”I'll just go and see.”

In the kitchen, Miss Gilchrit was just lifting a last batch of scones from the oven. The tea-tray stood ready and the kettle was just gently rattling its lid.

8

”There's a Mr. Guthrie here, and I've asked him to stay for tea.”

”Mr. Guthrie ? Oh, yes, he was a great friend of dear Mrs. Lansquenet's. He's the celebrated art critic. How fortunate; I've made a nice lot of scones and that's some home-made strawberry jam, and I just whipped up some little drop cakes. I'll just make the tea--I've warmed the pot. Oh, please, Mrs. Banks, don't carry that heavy tray. I can manage everything.”

However, Susan took in the tray and Miss Gilchrist followed with teapot and kettle, greeted Mr. Guthrie, and they set to.

”Hot scones, that is a treat,” said Mr. Guthrie, ”and what delicious jam I Really, the stuff one buys nowadays.”

Miss Gilchrist was flushed and delighted. The little cakes were excellent and so were the scones, and everyone did justice to them. The ghost of the Willow Tree hung over the party.

Here, it was clear, Miss Gilchrist was in her element.

”Well, thank you, perhaps I will,” said Mr. Guthrie as he accepted the last cake, pressed upon him by Miss Gilchrist. ”I do feel rather guilty, though---enjoying my tea here, where poor Cora was so brutally murdered.”