The Santa Klaus Murder by Mavis Doriel Hay Page A

handsome girl and, more-over, her father’s position would have been of great help to him in his career, providing the good social background which he lacked. Her money was doubtless a further attraction; I think he had little himself, and actors are always great spenders. It was more difficult to understand what Dittie saw in Kenneth, but he was one of those casual, incompetent, frivolous young men whom girls so often fall for. Dittie finally said no to him and sent him away, but although she did so of her own free will, having been persuaded that he would never make a good husband, she has never forgiven me, I fear, for the line I took. But I had my conscience to consider, as well as my duty to my brother, and—I repeat— I never for one moment thought that such a match could be a happy one.
    It was not until Dittie had been married for a couple of years to Sir David Evershot that we first heard those disturbing rumours about his family history. I did my best to prevent them from reaching my poor brother’s ears, for that could have done no good and he would certainly have blamed me for not being informed before the marriage. So far as I know, Osmond never heard the stories, for I feel sure he would have spoken to me had he done so.
    To tell the truth, I had been prevented by financial stringency from moving much in society for many years before I took up my residence at Flaxmere, and therefore was not au fait with current society gossip. In any case I might not have heard anything, for the Evershot family is not of the kind that gets itself widely talked about, and their home is on the other side of England.
    The rumour—I still do not know the truth of it—is that there was a strain of lunacy in David’s grandmother’s family, which showed itself in one of his uncles, who was sent abroad with a trusted attendant and lived and died under an assumed name in some remote corner of Europe, so that those people who had known him as a boy forgot about him and no one else ever connected him with the Evershot family. Sir David had a brother who was reported missing in the war and who is said to be still living, a hopeless lunatic in a private asylum.
    These rumours were so vague that no one would trouble about them were it not for David’s temper. We never saw the signs of this when he was courting Dittie; in fact, I feel sure that the tendency has developed since then, and I fear that Dittie’s own lack of poise cannot be the best antidote to such tendencies. It was at Christmas time five or six years ago that Patricia’s little Enid, then about three, toddled up to her Uncle David when he was writing in the library, pulled at his sleeve, and asked him to play bears with her. I suppose she shook his arm and spoilt his writing; he snapped at her crossly: “Get away, Enid!” and the child burst into tears and ran to her mother.
    Patricia reproached David—quite moderately, I thought, considering how he had frightened the child. No one noticed anything more for a few minutes. Suddenly we realized that David was on his feet, striding up and down the room. His face horrified me; his eyes were blazing and his jaw was working as if he were gnashing his teeth, only he didn’t quite gnash them. Then he burst out into what I can only describe as raving. I cannot remember all that he said, but there was something like, “So I’m not fit to touch a child! And the child knows it!” I was too shocked to take in all he said. Suddenly Dittie rushed in, looking very frightened, and she managed to get him away. He didn’t appear again that day and Dittie made apologies about him having a frightful headache which was driving him frantic, but from what I know of David he is not the man to suffer in silence and he certainly had not mentioned any headache.
    Similar scenes have occurred on a few occasions since then. Of course we all try to avoid annoying him, but it is