The Silent Pool

by Patricia Wentworth

  Miss Silver watched her closely.

  ‘I was thinking of Meeson.’

  She saw Adriana start and flush. She spoke with anger and emphasis.

  ‘Oh, no! Not Meeson!’

  ‘She had the knowledge.’

  ‘I said, “Not Meeson”.’

  ‘You have said that Mrs Geoffrey would like to leave Ford. Is she the only one? Does Meeson like living in the country?’

  ‘What do you think!’ Adriana gave a short laugh. ‘She loathes it. She’s a Londoner. It’s not a suburb she hankers after, but the real thing. She’s always at me to pack up this place and go and take a flat just round the corner from where we used to be.’

  ‘She knows that you have provided for her in your will?’

  ‘She knows most things about me. And you won’t get me to believe that it’s Gertie Meeson who has been playing tricks on me for the sake of what I’ve left her! You will never get me to believe that!’

  ‘So there is one person about whom you do feel sure.’

  Adriana got up.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure about Gertie,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  When Superintendent Martin left Ford House he had a good deal to think about. In the upshot he betook himself to see Randal March, the Chief Constable of Ledshire. After some preliminaries on the subject of the death of Meriel Ford and the fact that there was now indisputable proof that she had been murdered, Martin said in rather a tentative manner,

  ‘There is a Miss Silver staying in the house there.’

  There had been a time when the handsome and robust Chief Constable was a spoiled and delicate little boy. He had not been considered strong enough to go to school, and had therefore shared his sisters’ lessons for some years beyond the usual time. Over that schoolroom Miss Maud Silver had presided with a firmness and tact which won his entire respect and affection. She had always kept up with the family, and when in later years their paths crossed again he found both the affection and the respect enhanced. He was then Inspector March, and she no longer a governess. They came together over the affair of the Poisoned Caterpillars, and he most gratefully admitted that her skill and courage had saved his life. He had encountered her in her professional capacity a good many times since then.

  He looked in a considering fashion at the Superintendent and said,

  ‘I know Miss Silver very well indeed.’

  ‘I thought I remembered her name, sir. Hadn’t she something to do with that business at the Catherine-Wheel?’

  Randal March nodded.

  ‘She has had something to do with quite a number of cases in Ledshire. How does she come into this one?’

  Martin told him.

  ‘And what does she say about it all?’

  Martin told him that too, finished up with, ‘And what I was wondering was just what notice-’

  The Chief Constable laughed.

  ‘I should advise you to take quite a lot of notice of anything she puts forward! I won’t say she is never wrong, but I will say that she is usually right. She has a very just, acute and penetrating mind, and she has what the police can never have, the opportunity of seeing people off their guard. We come in after a crime, and we get everyone in a state of jitters. This may make a guilty person give himself away, but it also makes innocent people act as if they were guilty, especially in a murder case. It is astonishing how often there is something they want to hide. We turn a searchlight on them, and they all start trying to cover up. But Miss Silver sees them when we have shut the door behind us and gone away. They draw a long breath of relief and relax. The innocent ones confide in her – she is astonishingly easy to confide in – and the guilty get the feeling that they have been too clever for the police. I have seen it produce remarkable results.’

  Martin said, ‘Well, sir, she’s easy to talk to, and that’s a fact. I was hoping I hadn’t said too much.’

  ‘She is perfectly discreet.’

  ‘And she was right about the footprints under that window and the fingerprints on the sill. Someone stood and listened there all right. Only it wasn’t Meriel Ford – the fingerprints are not hers.’ He went on talking to the Chief Constable.

  It was not until next morning that he returned to Ford House. He asked for Miss Silver, and waited for her in the small room where they had talked before. When she came in he took the hand she offered him, waited for her to be seated, and then came out with,

  ‘Well, we’ve investigated the fingerprints on the outside of the sitting-room at the Lodge, and they’re good enough and clear enough, but they weren’t made by Miss Meriel Ford.’

  Miss Silver allowed herself to say, ‘Dear me!’

  He nodded.

  ‘You thought they would be hers, didn’t you? Well, they’re not, and that’s that. Both the footprints and the fingerprints are out. And they’re not Mrs Trent’s, or the boy’s either. She made no trouble about letting us take them for comparison. Well, we compared them with the prints from up here. It did cross my mind that they might be Mrs Geoffrey’s, but that’s out too, and so are all the others. Of course there’s nothing to say just when they were made, but they were fresh. Then whilst we were about it we went over the front door, and the passage, and the door into the sitting-room. Miss Meriel’s prints were there all right. Nothing you could swear to on the handles – too much of a mix up with Mrs Trent’s and the little boy’s – but a good clear print of her left hand on the wall of the passage as if she had come in in the dark and been feeling her way, and one of the right hand on the jamb of the sitting-room door as if she had stood there to listen.’

  ‘Then she was there.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she was there all right! And the question is, did Geoffrey Ford walk home with her? Or follow her? And how did he get her to go to the pool?’

  ‘You suspect him of the murder?’

  ‘What do you think yourself?’

  ‘If Miss Preston was deliberately pushed into the pool – and it begins to look as if she was – then we have to consider why anyone should have pushed her. The only shadow of a motive suggested by anyone is the one put forward by yourself. You say she was wearing a coat of a very marked and unusual pattern which belonged to Adriana Ford, and you suggest that the person who attacked her did so under the impression that she was Adriana Ford. Now there is no evidence on this point at all, but whereas, so far as we know, no one benefited by the death of Mabel Preston, quite a number of people stood to benefit under the will of Adriana Ford. Miss Ford was quite frank on the subject. She has provided handsomely for the Simmons and for the maid, Meeson, who used to be her dresser. There is a legacy to Mr Rutherford, but the main beneficiaries are Mrs Somers, Meriel Ford, and Mr and Mrs Geoffrey Ford. Any one of these people had a motive for her death. Any one of them could have slipped out of that cocktail party and pushed Mabel Preston into the pool under the impression that they were pushing Miss Ford. Well, there we are – and no evidence to show that any of them did it.’

  Miss Silver sat in an attitude of gentle composure. Her eyes rested on Superintendent Martin’s face with an expression of most gratifying attention. Detective Inspector Frank Abbott of Scotland Yard was wont to say that she had the same effect upon him as the match-box has upon the match – she enabled him to produce the illuminating spark. He was, as Miss Silver very frequently pointed out, addicted to talking in a very extravagant manner when not on duty. But it is certain that Superintendent Martin was experiencing a somewhat similar feeling. He was conscious of an unusually clear train of thought and of the power of putting it into words. He would not, perhaps, have admitted that Miss Silver had anything to do with this, but it is a fact that he found her a very stimulating listener. He continued in the same vein.

  ‘Then we come to the death of Meriel Ford – a strong young woman and, unlike Mabel Preston, sober. She couldn’t just be pushed down into the pool and drowned. She was hit over the head with a golfclub and put in the pool to make sure. And when you come to th
e motive in her case, we get that shred of stuff which you found caught in the hedge. It proves that she was down by the pool between half past six and the time Meeson saw her with coffee all down the front of her dress. That would be about an hour. The medical evidence puts Mabel Preston’s death within that time. The moment these facts became known the person who murdered Mabel Preston would realize that he was in danger – if there was such a person. Just for the moment I am assuming that there was. Well then, out of the possible suspects, Mrs Somers is the only one who is in the clear. She wasn’t at the cocktail party, she didn’t know about that shred of stuff, and she wasn’t here when Meriel Ford was killed. But all the others knew. Simmons and Ninian Rutherford were in the hall when Meriel was accusing Meeson of telling tales about the piece of stuff, and the Geoffrey Fords were on the landing. Geoffrey Ford went down to see Mrs Trent that evening. Meriel Ford followed him out of the drawing-room. You suggested that she might have followed him to the Lodge. I think there is evidence that she did so, and that she stood listening at the sitting-room door. Would it have been in her character to let it stop at that?’

  ‘I think not, Superintendent. She had an impulsive temperament and a fondness for scenes.’

  He nodded.

  ‘So I am told. From what I’ve heard of her, I should say she would have burst in on them, especially if they happened to be talking about her. Well, this is where I put some more questions to Mr Geoffrey Ford.’ He got up, but before he reached the door he turned again. ‘I suppose you would say that you are representing Miss Ford?’

  ‘She has engaged my services professionally.’

  He nodded.

  ‘That being the case, and as far as I am concerned, I should make no objection if you care to be present. Of course he may object, in which case-’

  Miss Silver smiled graciously.

  ‘You are too good, Superintendent. I should be very much interested.’

  Martin rang the bell, and when Simmons appeared asked him to tell Mr Ford that he would like to see him.

  Geoffrey came into the room in his usual easy manner. He had had a good night – he could not in point of fact remember that he had ever had a bad one – and with even the short lapse of time since his interview with the police he had been able to persuade himself that he had made a favourable impression, and that all would now be well. These things were a nine days’ wonder, but they soon died down and were forgotten. Once the inquest and the funeral were over, they would all be able to go back to their usual way of life. Meanwhile he supposed that there were formalities which the police had to attend to, and that they would naturally have recourse to him as the man of the house. His manner was pleasant and assured as he said,

  ‘Oh, good-morning, Superintendent. What can I do for you?’

  ‘There are just a few questions I should like to put to you, Mr Ford. As Miss Silver tells me she has been professionally retained by Miss Adriana Ford, you will not, perhaps, object to her presence.’

  Geoffrey stared. He wasn’t going to refuse, but his voice stiffened as he said,

  ‘Oh, no, of course not.’

  ‘Then shall we sit down?’

  Geoffrey’s colour deepened a shade. He didn’t care about being asked to sit down in what he regarded as his own house. He took a chair and sat as for a business interview. The Superintendent followed his example. His tone was grave as he said,

  ‘Mr Ford, I have to ask you if you have nothing to add to your account of the events on the night of Miss Meriel Ford’s death.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘When I asked you whether she accompanied you on your visit to Mrs Trent at the Lodge you said of course not – she would not have gone there without being asked. You are quite sure she did not go there with you?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! Why should she?’

  ‘Mr Ford, please think very carefully before you answer this. You say that Miss Meriel Ford did not accompany you to the Lodge. What I am asking you now is, did she follow you there?’

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘She left the drawing-room in search of you. You had not been gone very long, but you say that you had already left the house by way of the study window.’

  ‘I must have done.’

  ‘Why must?’

  ‘Because I didn’t see her.’

  ‘Going out by the French window like that, you must have left it unlocked behind you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she had only to try the handle to know that you had gone out.’

  ‘Why should she try the handle?’

  Martin said in an authoritative voice,

  ‘Mr Ford, I have a pretty extensive account of the conversation in the drawing-room both before and after you left it. Miss Meriel Ford was sarcastic on the subject of your having letters to write, and made it quite clear that she believed you were going to see Mrs Trent. You said you were going to the study to write letters. When she found that you were not there, it seems to me that it would be quite natural for her to try the glass door, and if she found it open to follow you.’

  Geoffrey Ford looked at him haughtily. He considered himself to be an easy-going man, but his temper was becoming rasped. He said,

  ‘That is just supposition!’

  Martin returned his look very directly.

  ‘Not entirely. We have found a good fresh print of her left hand on the wall between the front door and the living-room at the Lodge, and another of her right hand high up on the jamb of the living-room door. Any prints on the handle would, of course, have been overlaid, but the two I have mentioned are clear and recent. The one on the jamb points to the probability that she stood by that door and listened. Both you and Mrs Trent must know whether she entered that room or not. It seems very improbable that she would come to the door of the very room you were in and go no farther, and it is not in keeping with what I have heard of her character. She was not a timid person, and by all accounts she had no objection to a scene.’

  Geoffrey Ford had begun to feel cold. If he went on saying that Meriel hadn’t followed him and they found any more of those damned fingerprints inside the living-room, he would be sunk. He tried to remember just what Meriel had done. She had burst into the room and made a scene. This blasted policeman was right about that – there was nothing she liked better. But had she touched anything? He didn’t think she had. She stood there and waved her hands about, all very theatrical. And just before she went she had stooped down and picked something up. He hadn’t noticed what it was at the time – he hadn’t really thought about it. But now, when he was trying to remember, it came back to him. The thing she had picked up was a handkerchief. Her hand had gone down empty, and had come up with a little screwed-up handkerchief clutched in the palm. An amber-coloured handkerchief. Esmé hadn’t seen it. It was when she had turned towards him and away from Meriel. Esmé didn’t see it, but it was her handkerchief. Her handkerchief, with her name on it. And it had been found in the summerhouse by the pool. He had forgotten about Meriel’s fingerprints. Meriel must have taken Esmé‘s handkerchief to the pool. She must have dropped it in the summerhouse. Deliberately. He stared at Superintendent Martin, and heard him say,

  ‘I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the Station for further questioning.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Miss Silver made good progress with the white woolly shawl that morning. She found the process of knitting very conducive to thought, the gentle rhythmical movement of the needles forming a barrier against small inevitable distractions. Behind this barrier she found herself able to pursue the careful examination of motive, character, and action. When she had reached certain conclusions she put her work away in the flowered knitting-bag and went up to her bedroom.

  Emerging a little later in the black cloth coat, the hat which she considered suitable for a morning walk – older and with less trimming than the one in which she had travelled down – the neat laced shoes, the woollen gloves, and the
elderly fur tippet, she encountered Meeson, charged with a message. Adriana would like to see her – ‘And if you ask me, Miss Silver, it’s time somebody did. There’s just one thing she ought to be doing and doing it quick, and that’s packing up and getting out of here before the whole lot of us get murdered. And if I’ve said it to her once I’ve said it to her twenty times since poor old Mabel got pushed in the pool. “If anyone would do it to her, they’d do it to you or to me!” I said. “As soon as look at us! And sooner! For once murdering takes hold of anyone they don’t know how to stop, and that’s a fact! First poor old Mabel that you wouldn’t have thought had an enemy in the world, and then Meriel, and no one knows who next!” And all I get out of her is, “Gertie for God’s sake stop talking!” ’

  Adriana was standing by the window staring out. She turned as Miss Silver entered, and came over to her, limping more noticeably than she had done since her visit to Montague Mansions. When she spoke her voice was harsh.

  ‘Geoffrey isn’t back.’

  ‘It is only twelve o’clock. He would hardly have had time.’

  ‘What does “further questioning” mean? I should have thought they had asked us everything in the world already!’

  Miss Silver said gravely, ‘They are not satisfied with his answers.’

  ‘Why?’ She threw the word at Miss Silver.

  ‘They do not think that he is telling the truth.’ ‘-

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That he has not been frank with them.’

  Adriana made an impatient gesture.

  ‘Oh, Geoffrey will shuffle if he is in a tight place. But that is not to say that he would murder anyone. He wouldn’t. He likes everything to be easy and pleasant, and if he gets in a mess he tries to blarney his way out of it. If you think he would do anything violent, you’re not such a good detective as you’re cracked up to be.’

  Miss Silver infused a slight distance into her manner.

  ‘I am not prepared to offer any opinion at the moment.’