Grey Mask

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Because you look round at me. I’m going to drive now, and then you can look at me as much as you like.”

  When he had handed her over to Ernestine Foster, he went rather reluctantly to call on Miss Silver.

  She was knitting an infant’s pale blue woolly coat. A white silk handkerchief lay in her lap. When she saw Charles, she wrapped the pale blue coat in the handkerchief and dropped it into her knitting-bag. She said “Good-morning,” and then in the same breath,

  “I’m very glad you’ve come.”

  Charles was wishing the interview well over; he was wishing he had never come at all. Every time it got more difficult to steer a course between Greta’s safety and Margaret’s.

  Miss Silver took a sheet of paper out of a drawer and handed it to Charles.

  “I thought you might come in, so I prepared this for you. I should like you to read it. It is a list of the cases in which I believe Grey Mask to have had a hand. In the ones marked with an asterisk the evidence is strong; in the others it is of a slighter nature; in the two last in the list it really amounts to nothing more than suspicion. You may remember some of the cases.”

  Charles looked at the list. Miss Silver was right; he remembered some of the cases. What he remembered about them appalled him. His brows drew together as he read:

  “ ‘The Falny Case’-Good heavens! ‘The Martin Case’ -Martin got twenty years for that.” The words came out just above his breath.

  Miss Silver answered them.

  “Yes. But Grey Mask was behind him, and Grey Mask went scot free. I knew Martin’s wife. She told me things- nothing, you understand, that could have been used in evidence. You know what I mean, Mr. Moray-‘The little more, and how much it is; the little less, and what worlds away.’ ”

  Charles went on looking at the list. Names-a date or two-an occasional curt comment: “No arrest ever made”; “Smith arrested, but died before trial”; “Jewels never traced.” When he had read to the end, he gave the paper back with a “thank you.”

  Miss Silver locked it up again.

  “Do you feel quite comfortable about Miss Standing?”

  “No,” said Charles.

  “She had a narrow escape last night, Mr. Moray.”

  Charles looked at her without speaking.

  “It is not at all prudent for her to go to the theatre or to appear in public as she is doing.”

  “Do you suggest that I should lock her up?”

  Miss Silver coughed. Charles leaned forward.

  “You speak of her having had a narrow escape. What do you mean?”

  “Well, Mr. Moray, it was a narrow escape-wasn’t it?”

  “How do you know about it?”

  “I was following you.”

  “You saw it happen?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I saw Miss Standing and Miss Langton step off the kerb, with Mr. Pelham a little behind them on Miss Langton’s right. Then two men passed in front of me. I heard Miss Standing scream, and then I saw her lying on the ground. I waited until you took her away. What is her account?”

  “She says that someone pushed her, and that Miss Langton saved her from going under the bus.”

  Miss Silver looked at him mildly.

  “Miss Langton saved her-she says that? Does she know who pushed her?”

  “No, she doesn’t. Miss Silver-the two men you spoke of-were they near enough?”

  “I am not sure. I spoke to them afterwards, but they declared they had not seen anything-they said they were talking. The policeman took down their names and addresses. They were quite genuine-two young clerks in a shipping office.”

  “Something else happened last night,” said Charles. He gave Greta’s account of the car that had followed her.

  “Was it the Daimler?” said Miss Silver.

  “She doesn’t know a Daimler from a wheelbarrow,” said Charles. “And she can’t give any description of the chauffeur. The only thing she’s sure about is that he said her cousin wanted her to come at once.”

  Miss Silver frowned.

  “You are sure she said her cousin?”

  “Perfectly. Her cousin Egbert Standing. It’s the only thing she is sure about. By the way, she has left Miss Langton and is now staying with Mrs. Foster, whom I think you know.”

  Miss Silver did not reply. A small puzzled frown drew her brows together.

  “What about Jaffray?” said Charles. “Anything more?”

  “Jaffray has returned to his lodgings. I traced the car to a West End garage, but it was taken out late yesterday afternoon.”

  “By Jaffray?”

  “No, not by Jaffray. It was not brought there by Jaffray either. The same man brought it and took it away. The only thing the people at the garage appear to have noticed about him was that he had red hair.”

  “Red hair?”

  “So they said. If it is the man I suspect, the red hair is merely assumed. It makes a very good disguise, you know, just because everyone notices it.”

  “Who do you think he is?”

  “I am not prepared to say. Your story doesn’t fit in, I must follow it a little farther. You are quite sure Miss Standing said that it was her cousin Egbert who tried to carry her off?”

  “She didn’t see him,” said Charles; “she only saw the chauffeur.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “I think I had better see Miss Margot Standing,” she said.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  Mrs. Ravenna drove Margaret back to Sauterelle’s.

  “I’m only in town for two days, and I simply must see you again. I kept to-night for a cousin whom I haven’t seen for eighteen years; but she’s wired to say she can’t leave her husband, so I’d like to have you come instead if you will. Will you, my dear? If you don’t, I shall think you’ve not forgiven me for having startled you with my stupid mistake.”

  Margaret accepted. She had no wish to spend the evening alone hearing the silence of her little room give up an echo of what Charles Moray had said. She looked at the old green desk as she stood waiting for a minute or two before walking to the corner to catch her bus. The room was silent; she missed Greta’s chatter and Archie’s laugh. She looked at the old green desk, and remembered the envelope that Greta had found. It was in her mind that she would ask Mrs. Ravenna about the words which she had overheard as a child.

  She waited until dinner was over and they were sitting on either side of a pleasant blazing fire, with coffee set out on a small table between them. She helped herself to candied sugar and said:

  “Mrs. Ravenna-”

  “Yes, my dear? What is it?”

  “I remember something-I want to ask you about it- something that happened when I was a child. I remember it quite clearly, just as if I was seeing a picture. You and my mother were in a room together. My mother had on a white dress-the sun shone across it-she had a bunch of carnations here.” Margaret’s hand went up to her breast. “She was standing by the window, and you were sitting at a round table that had books on it. You had a lilac dress. I was about six years old. And I pushed open the door and saw you, and I heard my mother say, ‘It was a marriage by declaration.’ And then she saw me and said, ‘Lesbia-the child!’ ”

  Mrs. Ravenna’s face showed the most lively interest.

  “Fancy your remembering that old lilac dress of mine! I must say it was a very pretty one, and I always thought it suited me very well. But just think of your remembering it! It’s all I can do to remember dresses I had eighteen years ago.”

  “Mrs. Ravenna,” said Margaret, “what did my mother mean?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said, ‘It was a marriage by declaration.’ What did she mean?”

  Mrs. Ravenna put her head on one side.

  “Well, d’you know, Margaret, I’m not so very sure that I’ve any business to tell you.”

  “Mrs. Ravenna-if you could!”

  Lesbia Ravenna hesitated. The hour, the firelight, the comfortable after-dinner mood, all pr
ompted her to an interesting indiscretion. On the other hand she had held her tongue for eighteen years-yes, but all the people concerned were dead-still, a promise is a promise-well, but there wasn’t any actual promise, and it’s only to Esther’s own daughter.

  “Mrs. Ravenna-can’t you tell me?”

  “I can. I’m just not very sure whether I ought to. I don’t see that I should be doing any harm, but-” She caught Margaret’s look. “Well, I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you after all these years, and when they’re all dead-it’s not as if it can hurt anyone now. Of course I don’t know how much you know already.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Mrs. Ravenna shot a quick bird-like glance at her. She did know something, or why had she such an anxious look?

  She hadn’t her mother’s bloom-she was far too worn for her age. But what a fine head!

  “Well, my dear,” she said, “very few people knew anything. I’ve always wondered how these things can be kept secret-but people manage it somehow. It all happened in Edinburgh. I only knew Edward Standing very slightly myself. He didn’t come to the house, you understand. Old Archie Brandon wouldn’t have had him-he was just a bank clerk. It only shows you never can tell-I see he died a millionaire. But nobody could have dreamed of such a thing then. I met them together once, walking up and down in the twilight, and she asked me not to mention it to her uncle- he was rather a savage old man, and she had to do as she was told.”

  Margaret leaned forward; her hands clasped one another tightly; her tragic apprehensive eyes were fixed on Lesbia Ravenna’s face.

  “Of course I didn’t know about the marriage at the time-you mustn’t think that. Esther told me about it the following summer. It must have been the day you remember. It’s funny your remembering what she said about marriage by declaration. That’s just what she did say-she told me there had been a marriage by declaration, and then a frightful quarrel. I think he wanted her to come away and tell everyone, and she wouldn’t-she wouldn’t face old Archie. And it came to a really terrible quarrel between them. He was a hot-tempered young man, and he got it into his head she was ashamed of him-ashamed of his position, you know. And he went off in a rage, swearing she should never see him again until he could offer her a position that she wouldn’t have any need to be ashamed of. He sailed for New York in a tramp steamer, and it went down. It was an awful shock of course; but after the first blow I think it was a bit of a relief too. He dominated her a good deal. She wasn’t really what I would call in love with him, and after the first shock wore off, I do think it was a relief. And then-oh, my dear, you can guess what a terrible thing it was when she found she was going to have a child. Of course the marriage ought to have been given out at once- I’ve always said so-I said so to Esther the very first minute she told me about it, but then, of course, it was too late. They should have given it out at once-told the whole story from beginning to end. People would have been sorry for her then. But, as I say, by the time Esther told me, it was too late to do anything. The baby was born, somewhere over in France, I believe, and put out to nurse. Don’t ask me how people contrive these things-they do; and I’m sure I’ve often wondered how. The whole thing was a senseless piece of mismanagement. She was frightened to death of her uncle, and that was the beginning and the end of it. Well, about a year later she got married. I don’t know how much she told him, or whether she told him anything. She married him, and two years later Edward Standing came back. Frightful-wasn’t it? Esther told me about it. It was just before I went out to the States to be married. I thought it all very shocking. But Edward Standing had his own violent temper to blame for it. He’d let her think him dead on purpose-wanted to come back with a flourish or never come back at all; and I suppose, like most men, he thought everything was going to stand still whilst he was away. Well, he came back, and he found her married to someone else. There must have been a very dreadful scene. It ended in his giving her up. He cared for her much more deeply and truly than anyone had given him credit for. He went away, and I believe he took the little girl. She didn’t live very long.”

  Margaret spoke with dry lips:

  “She’s alive now.”

  “Oh no, my dear.”

  “She is.”

  Mrs. Ravenna stared.

  “Alive? My dear, she died-oh, quite sixteen years ago. Poor Margaret!”

  “Mrs. Ravenna, please-who are you speaking of?”

  “Of Margaret.”

  “What Margaret?”

  “My dear, who could I be speaking of? Your mother’s sister, Margaret Brandon. She married Herbert Faring. I suppose you hardly remember her?”

  Margaret put out her hand. It was a purely instinctive movement. Everything was slipping. Her hand went out into empty air and she slid forward in a dead faint.

  Ten minutes later Mrs. Ravenna was still petting her, fussing over her, and accusing herself of stupidity.

  “My dear, of course I never dreamt. It was too bad. But I had her so much in my mind, and of course to you she was only a name.”

  “Not even that,” said Margaret. “I suppose I knew that my mother had a sister-yes, of course I did know that. But my mother never spoke of her-never at all.”

  “She didn’t like Herbert Faring. She and Margaret never met except when he was away. And after Margaret died- no, I suppose Esther wouldn’t speak of her-she was like that.”

  Margaret lay back amongst the soft cushions that had been piled behind her. It was true. Esther Pelham had lived very fully and sufficiently in the present; every day brought her so much that she had no time for the past. Margaret Brandon had slipped away into the past and been lost there.

  After a silence she asked: “Was the marriage legal?”

  “The marriage with Edward Standing? Oh yes, my dear- that was the trouble. They had made a declaration in writing, and he had it. If he had chosen, he could have upset the marriage with Herbert Faring and made a most frightful scandal. In the end he gave her the paper and promised never to make any claim.”

  Margaret sat up.

  “Nobody seems to have thought of the child,” she said.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  Miss Silver called that evening at Mrs. Foster’s.

  She did not see Miss Greta Wilson, because Greta had gone out to dine and dance with Archie Millar. Mrs. Foster had, in fact, sent them out.

  “It’s no use, Archie. I’ve taken her in to please you, but I’m not going to put my table out. It holds eight, and it won’t hold any more. So you’ve just got to take her away and dance with her. She won’t mind.”

  Greta was frankly delighted.

  “Does Charles dance as well as you do?”

  “Haven’t you danced with Charles?” said Archie.

  “Not yet. Does he dance as well as you do?”

  “Oh, he couldn’t do that. I don’t want to shatter any of your young illusions, you know; but after four years explorin’ in desert wastes I shouldn’t wonder if poor old Charles wasn’t a bit of a back number.”

  Greta gave a little shriek.

  “Oh! Archie! There’s Ambrose!”

  “Who’s Ambrose?”

  “There! He’s Ambrose Kimberley. He came to the flat one day when Margaret was out. And I went for a walk with him, and Charles was in a most frightful temper about it. I do think Charles has got a temper. Don’t you? He was in a frightful temper about Ambrose. Oh, Archie, he’s seen me! He waved his hand! Did you see? Don’t you call him frightfully good looking?”

  Archie eyed Mr. Kimberley coldly.

  “He’s the brand they grow for the movies-good old Hollywood vintage-full of bouquet-mellow on the palate- sweet as cream-flappers like it.”

  Greta giggled.

  “He’s got lovely eyelashes. Charles was frightfully cross because I told him they were yards longer than his.”

  “Men don’t have eyelashes,” said Archie sternly. “It’s not done.”

  Charles, after dining alone, walked to Thornhill Sq
uare. He thought he would like to have a talk with Mrs. Lattery.

  “I think I shall be coming to live in the house next week,” he began, and had to endure Mrs. Lattery’s very voluble plans for his accommodation.

  “And I don’t know whether you’ll be wanting to entertain, sir.”

  “Probably,” said Charles.

  Mrs. Lattery embarked on the question of the staff that would be required.

  “My brother, sir, will be looking for a place. I don’t know whether you would consider him. He’s been in very good places.”

  “As?”

  “As butler, sir-he’s been in very good places indeed, sir.”

  Charles found himself a good deal interested in Mrs. Lattery’s brother. Pullen was the name-yes, Pullen.

  “He was with Lady Perringham, sir, and before that with Mr. Mackay. He has always given every satisfaction.”

  “And where is he now?” said Charles.

  “He was in the service of the late Mr. Standing, sir. But I hear the house is to be closed, and my brother-Pullen’s the name, sir-he’ll be looking for something else and I thought-”

  “Quite so,” said Charles. He wondered whether William Cole, alias Leonard Morrison, also wished to take service with him; and he wondered what would happen if he were to engage these two interesting persons.

  He left the house and betook himself to call on Margaret. It was by now rather after half-past nine. He climbed the steep, narrow stair and stood for a moment on the dimly lighted landing. He had come to see Margaret, but having come, he was in two minds as to whether he would not turn round and go away. He came slowly to the door of the flat and stood hesitating. As he did so, he noticed that the door was not fastened. He pushed it gently, and heard a faint click. Someone had just put out the electric light.

  Charles took one step across the passage and thrust open the sitting-room door. The room was in darkness. He called “Margaret!” and felt for the switch. Someone charged him with a headlong rush that carried him back through the door into the tiny passage. He fetched up against the wall with a bang.

  In the half minute’s struggle that followed he had the man by the throat, was violently kicked on the shins, lost his grip, had an impression of a long, thin, twisting form, extraordinarily strong, extraordinarily supple, and gripped a bony wrist, only to have it wrenched away. The door of the flat slammed. Charles got it open and pursued. The intruder was away before he reached the entrance. After prospecting, Charles returned to the flat and put on the light.