door and the front garden was bigger than eliot's own. If
he was offered a house like this he would certainly not
refuse They Walked up the path and rang the bell, paying
no attention to the explosions of fireworks around them.
Mr Crowthe opened the door immediately. He was a
whire-haired man in late middle age. He stood very
straight, which made him seem taller than he really was.
His face was lined, but he looked strong and healthy,
though his hands were shaking.
'What happened to poor Alex?, he asked.
'We don't know yet, sit,'said Eliot. 'But we'd like to ask
you and your wife some questions.'
Crowther controlled himself with an effort, and led
them into a large sitting room. Eliot's attention was caught
by the pictures which covered one of the walls. They were
an interesting mix of colours, mostly blues and greens, and
had obviously been painted by the same person. Mr
Crowther introduced his wife, Catherine, and Eliot felt
immediately that she was the painter.
She was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and lovely
green eyes. It was diffcult to tell her ahe, but she was
certainly much younger than her husband. Eliot guessed
she was in her forties. There was no colour in her face, but
she answered his questions calmly enough. A strong and
intelligent woman, Eliot thought.
'No, Inspector, we haven't seen Alex since a week ago,'
she told him. 'We usually meet on Friday afternoons, either
here or at his house. We've done it for years. He phoned
this morning from his shop in greenwich to say he was
coming. He and I were going to play some music together.
We often do that. li's a pleasant way to emd the week.