The Santa Klaus Murder by Mavis Doriel Hay

think I am better able than most of them to judge Eleanor’s character.
    This conversation took place in Osmond’s study on Tuesday afternoon. It must have been in the early afternoon, because after tea the room was closed to us so that the Christmas tree and its lighting arrangements could be fixed up. It was overheard because the door opening into the library had been left ajar. My brother was at that time out in the park with his grandchildren, as I happened to know, and Miss Portisham was probably attending to household matters. It seemed to me that Gordon had first of all entered the study, perhaps to look for some book—my brother always kept all the books of reference there—or to telephone. Eleanor followed him for we, who were sitting in the library, suddenly heard her voice say, “Oh, Gordon !”—rather reproachfully.
    Patricia and I, who were sitting by the fire in the library, knitting and chatting, certainly heard that much, but we didn’t catch Gordon’s reply. We heard Eleanor say again, “Oh, Gordon; it’s not suitable,” and more that was too low for us to distinguish. Gordon replied rather loudly, “Nonsense, Eleanor!” Hilda, who was also sitting in the library, writing letters, looked up suddenly, said, “There’s a draught from the study door, I think,” and went across and shut it. That is all that anyone can actually have heard, and it is quite easily explained by one who knows and thoroughly understands the people and the circumstances.
    One disadvantage of these family reunions is that the presence of so many people in the house makes it very difficult to get hold of anyone for a heart-to-heart talk. As I had so much responsibility for the marriages of Eleanor and Dittie and George, I am naturally anxious to have a quiet chat with each of them and hear about the children and give them the opportunity to unburden their hearts of any private worries.
    Patricia has no real worries, I believe. She always makes a great to-do about small things, but that is her nature. As usual, I heard how extravagant George is and how he will go on betting and always loses, and how much the children’s education is costing, but that is just what I expect to hear from Patricia. I should guess that she herself is rather an expense to George, but then he would never have endured one of those careful wives who keep an eye on the family budget and are always telling their husbands that they can’t afford this or that.
    Dittie was the one I was really worried about and particularly wanted to have a quiet talk with. When Dittie married Sir David Evershot ten years ago it seemed a most desirable match in every respect. I was immensely relieved to see her so satisfactorily settled. A year or so earlier she had been definitely attracted by a young man, Kenneth Stour, who at that time stayed a good deal with the Tollards, whose place is only ten miles from Flaxmere. I did everything in my power to persuade Dittie that marriage with Kenneth Stour would be a disaster. To begin with, he is an actor, and though one must admit that the man has a sort of flashy charm, he is, I feel sure, far too irresponsible ever to make any lasting success even of such a career as he has. I felt that he could not be depended upon in any way. His family is not well off, though they have a nice enough little place in Suffolk. They are really quite obscure people, and I have heard from friends of mine who live near them that they are most peculiar and entertain all sorts of foreigners and artists, and are entirely out of the ordinary social and sporting life of the county. They are not our sort of people at all, and Dittie could never have been happy for a year in the sort of life which Kenneth offered her. My brother did not approve of Kenneth and would never have countenanced the match.
    It was easy to see why Kenneth was so persistent in his attentions to Dittie. She was a