“No trouble. Just damned unreasonable of Gervase!”
“He blamed you for certain losses he had sustained?”
“Gervase wasn’t normal! Vanda knew that. But she could always handle him. I was content to leave it all in her hands.”
Poirot coughed and Major Riddle, after glancing at him, changed the subject.
“You are a very old friend of the family, I know, Colonel Bury. Had you any knowledge as to how Sir Gervase had left his money?”
“Well, I should imagine the bulk of it would go to Ruth. That’s what I gathered from what Gervase let fall.”
“You don’t think that was at all unfair on Hugo Trent?”
“Gervase didn’t like Hugo. Never could stick him.”
“But he had a great sense of family. Miss Chevenix-Gore was, after all, only his adopted daughter.”
Colonel Bury hesitated, then after humming and hawing a moment, he said:
“Look here, I think I’d better tell you something. Strict confidence, and all that.”
“Of course—of course.”
“Ruth’s illegitimate, but she’s a Chevenix-Gore all right. Daughter of Gervase’s brother, Anthony, who was killed in the war. Seemed he’d had an affair with a typist. When he was killed, the girl wrote to Vanda. Vanda went to see her—girl was expecting a baby. Vanda took it up with Gervase, she’d just been told that she herself could never have another child. Result was they took over the child when it was born, adopted it legally. The mother renounced all rights in it. They’ve brought Ruth up as their own daughter and to all intents and purposes, she is their own daughter, and you’ve only got to look at her to realise she’s a Chevenix-Gore all right!”
“Aha,” said Poirot. “I see. That makes Sir Gervase’s attitude very much clearer. But if he did not like Mr. Hugo Trent, why was he so anxious to arrange a marriage between him and Mademoiselle Ruth?”
“To regularize the family position. It pleased his sense of fitness.”
“Even though he did not like or trust the young man?”
Colonel Bury snorted.
“You don’t understand old Gervase. He couldn’t regard people as human beings. He arranged alliances as though the parties were royal personages! He considered it fitting that Ruth and Hugo should marry, Hugo taking the name of Chevenix-Gore. What Hugo and Ruth thought about it didn’t matter.”
“And was Mademoiselle Ruth willing to fall in with this arrangement?”
Colonel Bury chuckled.
“Not she! She’s a tartar!”
“Did you know that shortly before his death Sir Gervase was drafting a new will by which Miss Chevenix-Gore would inherit only on condition that she should marry Mr. Trent?”
Colonel Bury whistled.
“Then he really had got the windup about her and Burrows—”
As soon as he had spoken, he bit the words off, but it was too late. Poirot had pounced upon the admission.
“There was something between Mademoiselle Ruth and young Monsieur Burrows?”
“Probably nothing in it—nothing in it at all.”
Major Riddle coughed and said:
“I think, Colonel Bury, that you must tell us all you know. It might have a direct bearing on Sir Gervase’s state of mind.”
“I suppose it might,” said Colonel Bury, doubtfully. “Well, the truth of it is, young Burrows is not a bad-looking chap—at least, women seem to think so. He and Ruth seem to have got as thick as thieves just lately, and Gervase didn’t like it—didn’t like it at all. Didn’t like to sack Burrows for fear of precipitating matters. He knows what Ruth’s like. She won’t be dictated to in any way. So I suppose he hit on this scheme. Ruth’s not the sort of girl to sacrifice everything for love. She’s fond of the fleshpots and she likes money.”