Watson's Choice by Gladys Mitchell Page A

had appeared and were thawing out in the servants’ hall.
    ‘They can’t waste time there,’ said Sir Bohun. ‘Grimston, you and Bell collect the voting papers. Now, Linda, how do you feel?’
    ‘Better,’ the pallid girl replied. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m terrified of dogs, and that was such a big one, and it looked – it looked so very horrible!’
    Sir Bohun nodded, went out of the room and brought in the orchestra, who were certainly cold and damp and seemed delighted to get into the brilliantly-lighted, centrally-heated ballroom.
    ‘They’ve been delayed by the fog, as I expected, and I suppose they brought that great brute with them,’ he said, calmly appropriating the theory advanced by Brenda Dance. The orchestra leader, however, disclaimed all knowledge of the dog. He had not even seen a dog, he declared. He and his men tuned up and began to play.
    Manoel again came over to where Mrs Bradley was sitting. He was a teak-faced, black-haired young man, grave and stern, with square, practical hands and a stocky yet sinuous body. He looked enquiringly at her. Mrs Bradley grinned, but this horrid sight appeared to encourage the boy. He showed white teeth in a foreign, attractive smile.
    ‘You offer psychological advice, yes?’ he said, giving a stiff little bow before seating himself beside her.
    ‘Certainly, if and when it is required of me.’
    ‘Good. I am in a difficulty. It is not easy to commit murder which is not found out, I believe?’
    ‘Not in England, at any rate.’
    ‘Not in any country. What would be the best way?’
    ‘To commit murder, or to avoid being found out?’
    ‘Of course, both. I ask for information so that in my thoughts I can think somebody not dear to me is murdered. An academic murder, I think I would call it.’
    ‘I see. Wouldn’t it be sufficient to imagine that this person had died naturally?’
    ‘Sufficient to me, no. I was born naturally. That is enough that is natural. I would like to think of his agony.’
    ‘We are referring to …?’
    ‘To my natural father. But I see that you do not find the subject interesting. Tell me, therefore, of something else. In English law, if he should die … when his time comes from God, you understand … shall I become his heir? There would be nobody with a higher claim, I think.’
    ‘He would have to acknowledge paternity, or else he would have to make the necessary testamentary depositions.’
    ‘I see. I must ask him to do one or the other, then. You admit that I could have the right to do that?’
    ‘I see nothing against it.’
    ‘Did you produce the big dog? I saw that you and Miss Menzies were the only ones not afraid.’
    ‘No, it was nothing to do with us. Laura likes dogs.’
    ‘And you? Are you an English dog-lover?’
    ‘Not particularly. But I saw that the dog was harmless.’
    ‘No, I do not believe you did. I think you have too much human dignity to run from an animal.’
    ‘Nonsense. If I met a really savage creature I should be out of sight in a moment.’
    ‘So you say. Will you give me once more of your help?’
    ‘Say on, as my secretary would remark.’
    ‘Suppose that my father should marry again, and have children, would my claim to the inheritance be gone?’
    ‘It would not be such a good claim, but, again, your share of the property would depend upon his last will and testament.’
    ‘Yet I should still be his eldest son,’ said Manoel, quietly. ‘Nothing can ever alter that. You know, when we toreadores come to the point at which the bull must die, we call it “the moment of truth”. One day I think my father must come to that moment. What, then, will he think of me?’ He looked thoughtful, and then added, ‘If I kill my father, what will you think of me?’
    ‘The same as I do at present,’ Mrs Bradley replied.
    ‘Comes a lady who wishes her luggage to be carried to her hotel,’ said Manoel. ‘She attempts to engage a mendicant who has asked her for alms. But, because he is a