Put on by Cunning by Ruth Rendell Page A

teaching them French from when she was eleven, and when she speaks a French word she pronounces the R like the French, sort of rolls it in her throat. The point I’m making is, it happens naturally now, Pat couldn’t pronounce a French word with an R in it any other way and she never will .’
    ‘Mm hmm.’ While pondering Wexford had absentmindedly sneaked two crisps. He held his hands firmly together in his lap. ‘There’s always the possibility Camargue heard the name incorrectly because of defective hearing while it was, in fact, pronounced in the proper way. What I’m sure of is that Dinah is telling the truth. I tested her and she told the same story almost word for word the second time as she has the first, dates, times, everything.’
    ‘Pass over those crisp things, will you? I don’t see what motive she’d have for inventing it, anyway. Even if Natalie were out of the way she wouldn’t inherit.’
    ‘No. Incidentally, we must find out who would. Dinah could have had spite for a motive, you know. If Natalie is the real Natalie no one of course could hope to prove she is not, and no doubt she could very quickly prove she is , but an inquiry would look bad for her, the mud would stick. If there were publicity about it and there very likely would be, there would be some people who would always believe her to be an impostor and many others who would feel a doubt.’
    Burden nodded. ‘And there must inevitably be an inquiry now, don’t you think?’
    ‘Tomorrow I shall have to pass on what I know to Symonds, O’Brien and Ames,’ said Wexford, and he went on thoughtfully, ‘It would be deception under the ’68 Theft Act. Section Fifteen, I believe.’ And he quoted with some small hesitations, ‘Aperson who by any deception dishonestly obtains property belonging to another, with the intention of permanently depriving the other of it, shall on conviction on indictment be liable to imprisonment for a term not exceeding ten years.’
    ‘No one’s obtained anything yet. It’ll take a bit of time for the will to be proved.’ Burden gave his friend and superior officer a dubious and somewhat wary look. ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn and no offence meant,’ he said, ‘but this could be the kind of thing you get – well, you get obsessional about.’
    Wexford’s indignant retort was cut off in mid-sentence by the entry of Jenny and Dora to announce lunch.
    Kingsmarkham’s principal firm of solicitors had moved their offices when the new Kingsbrook shopping precinct was built, deserting the medieval caverns they had occupied for fifty years for the top floor above the British Home Stores. Here all was light, space and purity of line. The offices had that rather disconcerting quality, to be constantly met with nowadays, of looking cold and feeling warm. It was much the same in the police station.
    Wexford knew Kenneth Ames well by sight, though he couldn’t recall ever having spoken to him before. He was a thin, spare man with a boyish face. That is, his face like his figure had kept its youthful contours, though it was by now seamed all over with fine lines as if a web had been laid upon the skin. He wore a pale grey suit that seemed too lightweight for the time of year. His manner was both chatty and distant which gave the impression, perhaps a false one, that his mind was not on what he was saying or listening to.
    This made repeating Dinah Sternhold’s account a rather uneasy task. Mr Ames sat with his elbows on the arms of an uncomfortable-looking metal chair and the tips of his fingers pressed together. He stared out of the window at St Peter’s spire. As the story progressed he pushed his lips and gradually his whole jaw forward until the lower part of his face grew muzzle-like. This doggy expression he held for a moment or two after Wexford had finished. Then he said:
    ‘I don’t think I’d place too much credence on all that, Mr Wexford. I don’t think I would. It sounds to me as if