Suspicion Page #7

"Thwaite's companion asked for

the brandy to be served in large beakers.

"Apparently, as a result of a bet

between the two men...

"Thwaite filled one of these beakers

to the brim and drank it all.

"The other man was not present

when the actual tragedy happened...

"having left the place

a few minutes before.

"French police have not yet succeeded

in establishing his identity.

"According to the waiter, who has

a slight understanding of English...

"his name would appear to be

'Awlbeam' or 'Holebeam."'

I'm sorry to upset you, ma'am.

But do you or your husband

know of any friend of Mr. Thwaite's...

who would answer to such a name?

Perhaps Mrs. Aysgarth could enlighten us

about this corporation.

Yes, I believe I can.

My husband had planned

a real estate development with him.

Mr. Thwaite had gone to Paris

to dissolve the corporation.

He apparently died before he could do this.

Thank you, ma'am.

Any further questions, Benson?

None that I can think of.

- Thank you very much, Mrs. Aysgarth.

- Thank you.

I'm sorry.

When does Mr. Aysgarth

return from London?

I expect him this evening.

Would you ask him

to ring me at the station?

Yes, of course.

Goodbye, Inspector Hodgson.

Goodbye.

- Benson.

- Goodbye, Mrs. Aysgarth.

He didn't go to Paris.

He didn't go to Paris, I tell you.

Hogarth Club.

May I speak to Mr. Aysgarth, please?

When do you expect him?

He left yesterday morning?

No. It doesn't matter. Thank you.

Hello, Monkeyface.

You've read about Beaky, have you?

I was terribly fond of Beaky.

- Were you?

- Yes, dear.

I loved that silly, generous,

good-hearted fool.

- Did you?

- Of course I did.

Next to you, I loved him

more than anybody in the world.

Next to me?

Poor Monkeyface.

Here I am thinking only of myself

and forgetting all about you.

You liked him, too, didn't you?

I liked him very much.

The police were here.

What did they want?

They wanted you to help them.

They had a telegram from Paris...

and it seems there was

an Englishman who made a bet...

Yes, I know.

The whole story was in the late edition.

What else?

The inspector wants you to phone him.

He thought perhaps you could

help identify this Englishman.

What did you tell them?

Did you mention the corporation?

Naturally.

I told them that Beaky

was planning to dissolve it.

I wish you'd left all that to me.

What else did you tell them?

That's about all.

I said I was expecting you

back from London at any moment.

Hello. Wickstead police station, please.

Hello, Inspector.

This is John Aysgarth. I've just got home.

Yes.

I drove up to London with him

on Tuesday evening.

We dined at the Savoy.

No.

Yes.

Then I saw him off at Croyden Airport.

Yes.

No. I stayed in London until this afternoon.

At my club.

Yes.

Yes.

Not at all, Inspector.

If I can help you in any other way,

be sure to let me know.

Isobel, may I come in?

Lina, how nice.

I was thinking only yesterday...

that I don't see half as much of you

as I'd like.

How sweet of you.

I couldn't put my light out

until 3:
00 this morning.

I was so interested in your last book that I

had to come over and talk to you about it.

That's the most thrilling compliment

I ever got. Come and sit down.

- Had your tea?

- Yes, I have. Thank you.

I never knew you were

such a murder story fan.

Neither did I until recently.

- Did you really like it?

- I couldn't put it down.

I was completely fascinated

by the way your villain...

My villain? My hero, you mean.

I always think of my murderers

as my heroes.

I didn't mean to interrupt. You were

saying you were completely fascinated.

When he enticed his victim

across the footbridge...

knowing that the bridge

had been sawn through...

He also knew that his victim

couldn't swim. Don't forget that.

What I want to know is this.

Would you call that an actual murder?

From a moral standpoint,

there's no question at all.

It is murder.

I suppose it is.

What does Johnnie think?

Johnnie?

I haven't discussed it with him yet.

I should think he'd be interested.

The same situation

with this friend of his in Paris.

The same?

That brandy business

is just like my footbridge.

If they get his companion,

the question would be:

Was it murder or an accident?

The brandy thing isn't new at all,

you know.

- It's been done before?

- Yes, and in real life, too.

I have it here.

Richard Palmer got rid of

one of his victims that way.

A man called Abbey.

Was he hanged?

Trial of Richard Palmer. Where can it be?

They got him eventually,

after he killed half a dozen other people.

The fool got bored with the brandy

method and went on with real poison.

- He was a fool, wasrt he?

- Maybe I put it under the "T's."

If he'd stuck to brandy, he might have...

That's an interesting idea.

Suppose I ask my brother about it.

He's the Home Office Analyst. Conducts

post-mortems and all that sort of things.

I get some of my neatest ideas from him.

It really doesn't matter, Isobel.

Please don't bother. It's not important.

I'll run along. I don't want to trouble you.

- Now I remember. It's in your own house.

- What is?

The Trial of Richard Palmer.

That book about the brandy.

Johnnie borrowed it

a couple of weeks ago.

- Goodbye, Isobel.

- Goodbye, my dear.

Hello?

No, he isn't in.

This is Mrs. Aysgarth speaking.

This is

the Guarantors Assurance Company.

Would you tell Mr. Aysgarth that there's

been a delay in replying to his inquiry?

We have written him fully on the matter.

He should get our letter in the morning.

Yes, I will. Thank you.

- Good morning, madam.

- Good morning. Are there any letters?

Just three for Mr. Aysgarth

and a magazine for you, ma'am.

Hello, Ethel. You here again?

Yes, sir. I've brought

your morning tea and the post.

- Hello, darling. Any letters for me?

- Three.

Thank you, dear.

- Well, well, well.

- Good news?

Got a letter from old Spotty.

He's going to India.

What a life.

Says he wishes he had time

to pop down and see us.

That'd be a dream. Poor old Spotty.

- Do you mind if I take my bath before you?

- No, dear.

May I have some more soap,

Monkeyface? This bit's nearly gone.

Yes, there's some in the cupboard

above the washbasin.

- Darling, you're not shivering, are you?

- I've a bit of a chill.

Cold in all this sunshine?

Let me warm you up.

My poor little shivering baby.

How do you feel now? Better?

- Much.

- Good. Perhaps this will help.

- Darling, what are we doing tonight?

- We're going to Isobel's to dine.

What a bore.

Issie, let's get back

to that new book of yours.

The fellow comes into the room, locks it,

and starts to strum on the piano...

then somebody shoots him

through the locked door? That the idea?

That doesn't make sense. Why would he

lock the door just to play the piano?

Was he ashamed of his playing?

I arranged it this way.

A certain note on the piano was wired to

a revolver concealed in the wall paneling.

When the victim struck this note...

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