Her soft, distinct voice quavered for a moment.
“I’m certain it would have been a very happy marriage, he was such a gentle, understanding boy and desperately in love with Mollie. But then he was killed at Dunkirk. And after that Mollie went into the A.T.S. and after a time she started going out with another man and I believe in the end they would have got married but he was killed in an air raid and Mollie had the first of her breakdowns. She said she brought death to people. Both of our parents were dead by then and there was no one but me to help her. She came and lived with me for a time in London, where I’d got my first job in the university, and financially things weren’t too difficult, but I never felt I did as much for her as I ought. And I think perhaps I’ve felt guilty about that ever since. It may be why I did what I did about the will.”
“She didn’t go into a mental home then?” Andrew asked. He was thinking how radically wrong his assessment of Mollie had been. He had assumed that of the two sisters she was the practical one, the heartier, the more robust.
“No, by degrees she recovered,” Constance said. “The war was over by then and I got her to do a secretarial course and then get a job as a secretary, but she didn’t stay in it long and drifted on to helping a friend to run a guesthouse. But that didn’t last long either. She never stayed in anything long after she’d had her second breakdown and been in a home for a time, till she got her job with Mrs. Ryan. And I believe that one of the reasons why that worked so well was that Mrs. Ryan was a kind of mother to her. I told you Mollie was our mother’s favourite and I think she missed her terribly when she died. She’s always needed someone to look after her. And then Kenneth Eckersall appeared on the scene and I thought in the end they might get married, but she wasn’t even interested.”
“Was your feeling that she needed someone to look after her the reason why you left London and came to live with her here?”
“Partly, I suppose. But it suits me very well too. It isn’t any great sacrifice. I don’t think I’d ever be unselfish enough to make a big sacrifice for anyone. Mollie might be, but I wouldn’t.”
He gave her a long look. Her face was still turned away from him, and her sharp profile, it seemed to him, looked older and more strained than usual.
“Constance, are you afraid that Mollie wrote you that mad letter herself?” he asked. “Is that why you really asked me here, to see what I made of her? Is there another breakdown on the way?”
She hesitated for a moment, then turned her head and smiled at him.
“No, Andrew, that wasn’t why. It’s true when we first got the letter I wondered if Mollie could conceivably have written it to herself, but when we talked it over her behaviour was so entirely normal—I mean, it was a mixture of bewilderment and worry and even a touch of amusement—that I put that out of my mind. And the reason that I’ve asked you here—well, I suppose it was so that I could do what I’ve been doing. I wanted to confess to someone I trusted my own part in what was done about Mrs. Ryan’s will and ask for advice about what Mollie and I should do now. Then my courage failed me and I decided not to tell you anything about it. And I might not have done it now if you hadn’t practically stumbled on the truth yourself, talking to Nicholas. Tell me, do you think he really knows Mollie destroyed the will?”
“I don’t think he can claim any actual knowledge of it,” Andrew said. “He’s got no evidence. It’s just that he’s fairly sure of it.”
“Because it was in the letter meant for Mollie that got to him?”
“Not necessarily. I think he could have guessed it simply from the way the will disappeared. Mollie was the obvious person to have destroyed it. And he told me very explicitly that he didn’t mean to contest the earlier one and did it in a way which I felt he almost meant as a message to Mollie not to worry.”
“You think he’s really so generous?”
“It’s possible.”
“But if it was in the letter that got mixed up with the one that came to Mollie he may be a murderer.”
“Just so.”
“But you don’t think he is.”
“I’ve no opinion on the matter. But to tell you the truth, I rather took to him.”
“Everyone does.” She stood up. “But what a lot of time we’re wasting, talking about something that anyway was probably just a bit of nonsense. I wonder why Mollie’s taking so long. Her pills are usually ready waiting for her at the surgery. She only has to pick them up. I suppose she’s gone to have coffee with someone she’s met. Would you like some coffee?”
Andrew said that that would be very pleasant and Constance went into the house to make it.
She brought it out presently and they drank it there in the shade of the walnut tree and after a little while found themselves calmly and interestedly discussing the development of buds in a callus culture, which to Andrew was a far more rewarding subject than anonymous letters and murder. It was not until nearly lunchtime that Constance began to show signs of serious worry at Mollie’s continued absence.
“It’s nearly one o’clock,” she said. “I wonder what she’s doing. She was going to pick up some things for lunch in the village shop. Not much. Just some eggs for omelets and some fruit. But we’ve really nothing much else in the house at the moment, so we’ll have to wait for her. Let’s go in and have a drink.”
They went into the house and Constance poured out sherry for them both.
As they sat down she said, “She can’t simply have forgotten you’re here and need feeding.”
“Didn’t you say she’d probably met a friend and was having coffee with her?” Andrew said.
“But even if she did that, she’d be home by now.”
“Anyway, I’m sure she’s all right. What could have gone wrong?”
“Only it isn’t like her.”
“Perhaps on her way, after the coffee, she met someone else who asked her in for a drink, so she made a second stop.”
“Perhaps.” But she did not sound convinced. “If she doesn’t come in soon, could you survive on bread and cheese? There’s some steak in the fridge, but we meant that for this evening.”
“Bread and cheese or a sandwich is all I ever have for lunch at home,” Andrew assured her.
“All right then, we’ll give her a bit longer, then I’ll get it.” She sipped some sherry. “I expect you’re right. She’s having a drink somewhere and hasn’t noticed the time. All the same, it really isn’t like her.”
“Perhaps she’s been persuaded to stay for lunch by whoever asked her in.”
“In that case, she’d have telephoned. Oh, let’s not worry about it. She’ll be in any time now.”
But half an hour later Mollie had not returned and Constance had gone out to the kitchen and had come back with bread and cheese on a tray and with a puzzled frown on her face. By two o’clock the bread and cheese had been eaten and the tray had been cleared away, but Mollie had still not returned. Constance’s frown was more bewildered and more worried.
“D’you know what I think I’ll do?” she said. “I’ll ring up Mrs. Roberts.”
“Who’s she?” Andrew asked.
“She’s David Pegler’s receptionist. Of course, the surgery was over long ago and she’ll have gone home, but I’ve got her number and she can probably tell me if Mollie was there this morning, and if—if everything was just as usual.”
“How often does she go along for the pills?” Andrew asked.
“Once a month.”
“Constance, what is it you’re really afraid of?” He looked into her brilliant blue eyes with troubled affection. “Is it the breakdown you’ve been half expecting?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t know.” Her voice grew almost shrill on a note of protest. With a slight sense of shock he recognized that he had not realized till then how tense she was, how deeply concerned for her sister she must have been for a long time. “But something’s wrong and I’m going to telephone Mrs. Roberts and see if she can tell me anything. And
would you do something for me, Andrew? Will you listen in on the extension in the dining room? Then you can tell me if you’ve any ideas about what may have happened. I know I’m not altogether sensible about Mollie. Will you do that?”
“Of course.”
He got up and went to the dining room, and when he heard her voice in the sitting room saying that it was Constance Camm speaking, he took up the telephone and listened.
He heard a pleasant woman’s voice say, “Oh, good afternoon, Professor Camm. How are you? Such lovely weather we’re having, aren’t we? I’m sure your garden’s looking a treat. I was just going to go out and have a go at the weeds in mine. I’ve really let them get on top of me this year. It was taking an early holiday that did it. I went to Malta and I had a wonderful time. But then of course I came home and heard the sad news about Dr. Pegler—well, I ought not to talk about it, of course, but you’ll know all about it, so I don’t suppose it matters. Only I wished I hadn’t been away, because perhaps I could have helped. Not that one ever really can, but one would like to think one was there in case there was anything one could do.”
“You’re talking of Mrs. Pegler leaving her husband, I suppose,” Constance said, stemming the flow. “No, I’m sure there was nothing any of us could have done, and for all one knows, it may be for the best. But I just wanted to ask you, Mrs. Roberts, did you happen to see my sister this morning?”
“Mrs. Baird?” the other voice replied. “Oh yes, she was in for the usual pills. Looking very well, I thought. Why? Isn’t she at home? I remember she left with Nurse Grace, who happened to be in for a talk with Dr. Pegler. I do like that new hat the district nurses wear now. So much smarter than the old ones. I told Nurse Grace hers suited her beautifully. D’you know, it’s years since I’ve worn a hat and I always used to love having a lot to fit my different moods. But of course, they do squash one’s hair flat—”
“Mrs. Roberts, my sister didn’t say to you she was going to Maddingleigh or anything like that?” Constance interrupted firmly.
“No, as a matter of fact, we didn’t talk much,” Mrs. Roberts said. “We’d rather a busy surgery this morning. There was the children’s clinic for one thing, when they come in for their inoculations, and Mr. Ryan was in, I remember, and—oh, a real stream of people. Poor Dr. Pegler got terribly behindhand with his appointments and he’s looking so tired, I felt quite worried—”
“I suppose you don’t remember what time my sister left,” Constance interrupted again.
“I couldn’t tell you, I’m afraid. I know I kept her waiting for her pills for quite a time because there was such a rush on, but she was chatting to Mr. Ryan and didn’t seem to mind, and then, as I said, she left with Nurse Grace. I think Nurse gave her a lift home, because I could see from my window where her car was parked and I saw them both get into it.” There was a moment’s pause. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you, dear? She hasn’t come home, is that it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I really shouldn’t worry, because if she didn’t feel well or anything like that you can be sure Nurse would have looked after her. Only you’d think she’d have let you know about it, wouldn’t you? Yes, I see it’s strange. She’s so reliable. Well, I’m very sorry I can’t really help you. All I know is, Mrs. Baird came in as usual and left with Nurse Grace. I think your guess is probably right that she went into Maddingleigh to do some shopping. Perhaps she got offered a lift by someone and didn’t have a chance to telephone. I’m going there myself tomorrow, because Crowther’s have a sale and I want some shoes—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Roberts, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“Oh, that’s all right, dear.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Both women put their telephones down.
Andrew replaced the instrument that he was holding and returned to the sitting room. Constance was still standing by the telephone with her hand on it and with a look of grave uncertainty on her face.
“You heard all that?” she said.
“Yes,” Andrew answered.
“Of course, I don’t believe Mollie went into Maddingleigh. I only said that to have something to say.”
“I know. But why not try telephoning Miss Grace now? She could tell you where she put Mollie down.”
“Yes, I’ll try that.” Constance picked up the telephone directory and started flipping over the pages. After a moment she dialled a number. She let it ring for some time before giving up. “No one at home,” she said.
“Then try Ryan. We know he talked to Mollie this morning. He may be able to tell you if she said anything about what she meant to do.”
Constance nodded, found a number on the pad that lay beside the telephone and was just about to dial when she paused and said, “Will you listen again, Andrew? It’ll be easier than reporting the conversation to you.”
He went back to the dining room and as before listened in on the conversation that followed.
He heard a man’s voice say, “Ryan speaking.”
“This is Constance,” she said. “Nicholas, did you happen to see Mollie this morning?”
“In the surgery?” he said. “Yes, we chatted for a few minutes. But she isn’t ill, is she? She told me she’d just come in to pick up her usual pills. I thought she was looking very well.”
“Oh yes, she’s quite well,” Constance said. “I just wondered—oh dear, I don’t know how to say this. But can you remember, did you see her leave?”
There was a pause before he answered, then he said, “What’s the trouble, Constance? Something’s wrong.”
“It’s only that she hasn’t come home yet and she hasn’t telephoned or sent a message or anything to tell us what she’s doing, and that isn’t like her. I thought of telephoning you because Mrs. Roberts told me you were in the surgery this morning and she saw you and Mollie talking. So I wondered if she’d told you she was thinking of going into Maddingleigh or anything like that.”
“No, we talked mostly about my boil. I’ve an unpleasantly painful boil in a fairly unmentionable place, and I’d gone in to see David to get a shot of penicillin. I left before Mollie. I think she was talking to Jim Gleeson when I left. I believe he hurt his back some time ago and I gathered it’s been playing up recently, so he’d taken a day off work to see David and get some dope for the pain. Nasty things, backs. I gather that once you’ve got that sort of trouble the chances are it’ll plague you on and off for the rest of your life. I remember my mother had a bad time with hers. In those days they used to call it lumbago. Now I believe they call it chronic strain, or that’s what Jim told me was the trouble with him. But you aren’t really worried about Mollie, are you, Constance? To think of the worst that could have happened, I mean if she’d been in an accident, perhaps been knocked down by a car, you’d have heard about it by now from the police.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Constance’s voice had become crisp, as if she was now in a hurry to put an end to the conversation. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Nicholas. I hope the boil clears up soon.”
Andrew heard her put the telephone down.
He had just put down the one that he was holding and was about to rejoin her when he realized that she had picked up the one in the sitting room again and was dialling once more. Assuming that she would want him to listen in, he picked up the instrument that he had just put down and held it to his ear.
“Leslie?” he heard Constance say. “Is Jim in? Can I speak to him?”
“I’m afraid you’ve just missed him,” Leslie Gleeson answered. “He stayed at home this morning because his back was giving him hell, but a couple of drinks before lunch made him feel better and he’s gone in to work after all. He’ll be home about six o’clock, I expect. Shall I tell him to call you when he gets in?”
“No, don’t bother,” Constance said. “I may ring again, but it may not be necessary. I just wanted to ask, was he in the surgery thi
s morning?”
“I think he was. I went into Maddingleigh myself on the bus to Crowther’s sale and bought a set of sheets and pillowcases. Very pretty and a real bargain. But Jim said he was going to see David. There are some pills he gives Jim that help him a good deal. This trouble with his back is quite a recent thing, you know. I do hope it isn’t going to go on and on, because for one thing he can’t cope with the garden and it’s beginning to look an awful mess. He started digging up the wallflowers and was going to plant out some dahlias for the autumn, but it gave him agony. But why do you want to know about his going to the surgery?”
“I just wanted to know if he happened to see Mollie there. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t important.”
All the same, Constance slammed the telephone down with a violent clatter. Her nerves were getting the better of her.
When Andrew returned to the sitting room she was still standing by the telephone as if she was thinking of making yet another call, but then she walked away from it and sat down.
“I’m being stupid about this, aren’t I?” she said. “There’s no reason to worry.”
“I wish I knew,” he answered.
“I mean, it isn’t as if she was a child who couldn’t go missing for more than an hour or two without its meaning that there was probably something wrong.”
“The person I’d like to talk to is Miss Grace,” Andrew said. “You were given pretty definite information that she and Mollie left the surgery together. I was thinking, if you’d tell me where she lives, I’d go and see if she’s got home. And if she hasn’t, I might be able to find someone who can tell me when she’s likely to be in, or where she probably is now. There might even be someone who saw her with Mollie.”
Constance frowned, considering his suggestion. She was gazing down at her hands, which were locked tightly together in her lap. The knuckles were white. Then she looked up at him with a quick little smile and nodded.
The Other Devil's Name Page 8
