Ordeal by Innocence by Agatha Christie

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    “If you were fond of him - Were you fond of him?”
    She considered a moment, then said: “No. I was not fond of Jacko.”
    “Yet I hear from all sides that he had - great charm.”
    She said clearly, but without passion: “I distrusted and disliked him.” “You never had - forgive me - any doubts that he had killed your mother?” “It never occurred to me that there could be any other solution.”
    The waitress brought their tea. The bread and butter was stale, the jam a curious jellyfied substance, the cakes garish and unappetising. The tea was weak.
    He sipped his and then said: “It seems -1 have been made to understand - that this information I have brought, which clears your brother of the charge of murder, may have repercussions that will not be so agreeable. It may bring fresh - anxieties to you all.”
    “Because the case will have to be reopened?”
    “Yes. You have already thought about that?”
    “My father seems to think it is inevitable.”
    “I am sorry. I am really sorry.”
    “Why are you sorry, Dr. Calgary?”
    “I hate to be the cause of bringing fresh trouble upon you.”
    “But would you have been satisfied to remain silent?”
    “You are thinking in terms of justice?”
    “Yes. Weren't you?”
    “Of course. Justice seemed to me to be very important. Now -1 am beginning to wonder whether there are things that are more important.”
    “Such as?”
    His thoughts flew to Hester.
    “Such as - innocence, perhaps.”
    The opaqueness of her eyes increased. “What do you feel, Miss Argyle?”
    She was silent for a moment or two, then she said: “I am thinking of those words in Magna Carta. 'To no man will we refuse justice.'”
    “I see.” he said. “That is your answer.”

Ordeal by Innocence

Chapter 7
    Dr. MacMaster was an old man with bushy eyebrows, shrewd grey eyes and a pugnacious chin. He leaned back in his shabby arm-chair and studied his visitor carefully. He found that he liked what he saw.
    On Calgary's side also there was a feeling of liking. For the first time almost, since he had come back to England, he felt that he was talking to someone who appreciated his own feelings and point of view.
    “It's very good of you to see me, Dr. MacMaster,” he said.
    “Not at all,” said the doctor. “I'm bored to death since I retired from practice. Young men of my own profession tell me I must sit here like a dummy taking care of my groggy heart, but don't think it comes natural to me. It doesn't. I listen to the wireless, blah - blah - blah - and occasionally my housekeeper persuades me to look at television, flick, flick, flick. I've been a busy man, run off my feet all my life. I don't take kindly to sitting still. Reading tires my eyes. So don't apologise for taking up my time.”
    “The first thing I've got to make you understand,” said Calgary, “is why I'm still concerning myself over all this. Logically speaking, I suppose, I've done what I came to do - told the unpalatable fact of my concussion and loss of memory, vindicated the boy's character. After that, the only sane and logical thing to do would be to go away and try to forget about it all. Eh? Isn't that right?”
    “Depends,” said Dr. MacMaster. “Something worrying you?” he asked in the ensuing pause.
    “Yes,” said Calgary. “Everything worries me. You see, my news was not received as I thought it would be.”
    “Oh well,” said Dr. MacMaster, “nothing odd in that. Happens every day. We rehearse a thing before-hand in our own minds, it doesn't matter what it is, consultation with another practitioner, proposal of marriage to a young lady, talk with your boy before going back to school - when the thing comes off, it never goes as you thought it would. You've thought it out, you see; all the things that you are going to say and you've usually made up your mind what the answers are going to be. And, of course, that's what throws you off every time. The answers never are what you think