Free After the Funeral by Agatha Christie

seen Cora since our marriage,” said Maude. “I didn't like to say to Timothy at the time: 'Your youngest sister's batty,' not just like that. But it's what I thought. There she was saying the most extraordinary things! One didn't know whether to resent them or whether to laugh. I suppose the truth is she lived in a kind of imaginary world of her own - full of melodrama and fantastic ideas about other people. Well, poor soul, she's paid for it now. She didn't have any protégés, did she?”
    “Protégés? What do you mean?”
    “I just wondered. Some young cadging artist, or musician - or something of that kind. Someone she might have let in that day, and who killed her for her loose cash. Perhaps an adolescent - they're so queer at that age sometimes - especially if they're the neurotic arty type. I mean, it seems so odd to break in and murder her in the middle of the afternoon. If you break into a house surely you'd do it at night.”
    “There would have been two women there then.”
    “Oh yes, the companion. But really I can't believe that anyone would deliberately wait until she was out of the way and then break in and attack Cora. What for? He can't have expected she'd have any cash or stuff to speak of, and there must have been times when both the women were out and the house was empty. That would have been much safer. It seems so stupid to go and commit a murder unless it's absolutely necessary.”
    “And Cora's murder, you feel, was unnecessary?”
    “It all seems so stupid.”
    Should murder make sense? Mr Entwhistle wondered. Academically the answer was yes. But many pointless crimes were on record. It depended, Mr Entwhistle reflected, on the mentality of the murderer.
    What did he really know about murderers and their mental processes? Very little. His firm had never had a criminal practice. He was no student of criminology himself. Murderers, as far as he could judge, seemed to be of all sorts and kinds. Some had had over-weening vanity, some had had a lust for power, some, like Seddon, had been mean and avaricious, others, like Smith and Rowse had had an incredible fascination for women; some, like Armstrong, had been pleasant fellows to meet. Edith Thompson had lived in a world of violent unreality, Nurse Waddington had put her elderly patients out of the way with business-like cheerfulness.
    Maude's voice broke into his meditations.
    “If I could only keep the newspapers from Timothy! But he will insist on reading them - and then, of course, it upsets him. You do understand, don't you, Mr Entwhistle, that there can be no question of Timothy's attending the inquest? If necessary, Dr Barton can write out a certificate or whatever it is.”
    “You can set your mind at rest about that.”
    “Thank goodness!”
    They turned in through the gates of Stansfield Grange, and up a neglected drive. It had been an attractive small property once - but had now a doleful and neglected appearance. Maude sighed as she said:
    “We had to let this go to seed during the war. Both gardeners called up. And now we've only got one old man - and he's not much good. Wages have gone up so terribly. I must say it's a blessing to realise that we'll be able to spend a little money on the place now. We're both so fond of it. I was really afraid that we might have to sell it. Not that I suggested anything of the kind to Timothy. It would have upset him - dreadfully.”
    They drew up before the portico of a very lovely old Georgian house which badly needed a coat of paint.
    “No servants,” said Maude bitterly, as she led the way in. “Just a couple of women who come in. We had a resident maid until a month ago - slightly hunchbacked and terribly adenoidal and in many ways not too bright, but she was there which was such a comfort - and quite good at plain cooking. And would you believe it, she gave notice and went to a fool of a woman who keeps six Pekinese dogs (it's a larger house than this and more work) because she was 'so