Jane Plenderleith shrugged her shoulders.
“Not very much really. Her maiden name was Armitage, I believe.”
“Her husband?”
“I don’t fancy that he was anything to write home about. He drank, I think. I gather he died a year or two after the marriage. There was one child, a little girl, which died when it was three years old. Barbara didn’t talk much about her husband. I believe she married him in India when she was about seventeen. Then they went off to Borneo or one of the godforsaken spots you send ne’er-do-wells to—but as it was obviously a painful subject I didn’t refer to it.”
“Do you know if Mrs. Allen was in any financial difficulties?”
“No, I’m sure she wasn’t.”
“Not in debt—anything of that kind?”
“Oh, no! I’m sure she wasn’t in that kind of a jam.”
“Now there’s another question I must ask—and I hope you won’t be upset about it, Miss Plenderleith. Had Mrs. Allen any particular man friend or men friends?”
Jane Plenderleith answered coolly:
“Well, she was engaged to be married if that answers your question.”
“What is the name of the man she was engaged to?”
“Charles Laverton-West. He’s M.P. for some place in Hampshire.”
“Had she known him long?”
“A little over a year.”
“And she has been engaged to him—how long?”
“Two—no—nearer three months.”
“As far as you know there has not been any quarrel?”
Miss Plenderleith shook her head.
“No. I should have been surprised if there had been anything of that sort. Barbara wasn’t the quarrelling kind.”
“How long is it since you last saw Mrs. Allen?”
“Friday last, just before I went away for the weekend.”
“Mrs. Allen was remaining in town?”
“Yes. She was going out with her fiancé on the Sunday, I believe.”
“And you yourself, where did you spend the weekend?”
“At Laidells Hall, Laidells, Essex.”
“And the name of the people with whom you were staying?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bentinck.”
“You only left them this morning?”
“Yes.”