Chapter 11 Irene Knows Nothing
IRENE WAS THE first to speak, coming to the point with an abruptness which the Frenchman would not have used. "What is it you want to know?"
"I want you to be kind enough to tell me all you can concerning M. Reynard's death."
"I can soon do that. I know nothing. I went out shopping, and when I came back there was a dead man on the floor."
"At what time was that?"
"Oh, during the afternoon. It was a good while after lunch."
"Can't you be more definite than that?"
"Not unless I guess. When anyone sees a dead man the next thing she does isn't to look at the clock. Not unless it's in books."
"You're not trying to be very helpful."
"I'm not trying either way. I 'm trying to make you understand that if you want to find out who did it you're wasting time asking us."
"Who was in the room when you entered?"
"No one except His Excellency. He'd just come in."
"What do you know about Mr. Kindell?"
"He's my cousin."
"Then you probably know the business that brought him over here at the same time as yourselves."
"I might guess, and be wrong. It mayn't have been business at all. He's not the sort who'd go about killing strange men in other people's rooms, if you mean that."
"I'm sorry to hear that you have so decided an opinion. Here is a homicide which appears to have been the act of either your father or this young man, and of which we should greatly prefer that His Excellency should be cleared. I hoped that you might be able to give us a pointer in the right direction."
"Well, I can't. They're both silly ideas. I've told you my father had only just come into the room."
"How do you know that?"
"He told me himself. I could see how angry he was that the man was there."
"Angry? Surely that is a curious reaction to the discovery of a murdered man? Perhaps his annoyance was that you should see what had occurred?"
"Perhaps it was, more or less. My father is particular about his suite being private and quiet. It's what he's got a right to expect, being who he is. . . . And if he had found it necessary to shoot someone, I don't see how you should interfere. He's an American citizen. You might say he is America, having the office he has. . . . Extra-territorial you call it, don't you? Or something like that."
M. Samuel permitted himself a slight smile. "The ambassadorial immunity to which you allude does not extend to a neutral country. His Excellency is not accredited to France. But we are anxious to do what we can to spare him from any annoyance if - as we are anxious to think - the crime was not his, or even if he could give us any plausible justification for what occurred, our Government might be disposed to receive it in a spirit of tolerance. Our trouble is that neither you nor His Excellency will help us at all."
"But we know nothing about it. What can we say more?"
"You could tell me more of Mr. Kindell than you do. Why did he come up to these rooms at about the time the murder occurred?"
"To say good-bye to me, more likely than not. He was going back to England last night."
"Well, he will be coming back now."
"Then he can tell you himself whatever you want to know."
"Yes. He may see that it will be wise to do that."
M. Samuel's tone indicated that it would be better if others were of the same mind. With a sufficient minimum of courtesy he got up to go. He thought that after he had talked to Kindell he might persuade the girl to a greater frankness.
He felt that she had already told him more than she was aware, and a theory which would explain much was already taking place in his practical and experienced mind.