The Key (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 8)

by Patricia Wentworth

‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you like to modify that statement at all, or to add to it?’

  Her lips hardly moved, but they said, ‘No.’

  Lamb made a show of unfolding a paper. He did not hurry over it.

  ‘I have here the statement of a witness who says he was in a lane known as the Church Cut somewhere between nine and a quarter to ten p.m. on the night of Mr Harsch’s death. He states that you came through the garden door into the lane, and that Professor Madoc met you, and asked you whether you were going to the church to see Mr Harsch, who was playing the organ there. He said that you should not go, and that you should hand him over the key. When you refused, he twisted your arm and the key fell. The witness declares that Mr Madoc picked it up and went off in the direction of the church, whilst you went back into the garden and shut the door. Have you any comment to make?’

  Miss Brown stared with those dilated eyes. She moistened her pale lips and said, ‘No.’

  Lamb leaned forward.

  ‘It is only fair to tell you that Major Albany says that your key was not in the drawer on Thursday evening, but that by the time you all returned from the inquest on Friday morning it had been replaced. There is further evidence to show that you left the house at midnight on Thursday for a quarter of an hour, and that you went into the lane. There was some broken glass there, and you brought a bit of it in on your dress. Mr Madoc also picked up a bit of broken glass. From which we infer that you met him again on Thursday night, and that he then gave you back the key which he had taken from you on Tuesday.’

  There was a somewhat prolonged pause. Lifting his eyes from his notebook, Sergeant Abbott surveyed Miss Brown. She was not looking at him but at the Chief Inspector. He at once became aware that the quality of this look had changed. It was as if, having heard the worst, she was assembling her courage. At least that is how it struck him. Certainly something had happened since he had looked at her last. She was, for instance, no longer so rigid. The extreme pallor was gone. You couldn’t say that her colour had come back. That thick, smooth skin of hers probably never had any, and when she wasn’t paralysed with fright it would appear very much as it did now.

  As the thought went through his mind, she made a slight movement and said quick and low, ‘Will you let me explain?’

  Lamb said, ‘Certainly. I shall be glad to hear anything you have to say.’

  She moved again, leaning a little towards him.

  ‘Of course I don’t know who your witness is, but he is quite mistaken in what he saw. I can tell you exactly what happened. I could hear that Mr Harsch was playing the organ in the church. He is—’ she paused and corrected herself ‘– he was a very fine musician. I have often gone into the church to listen when he was playing. I meant to do so on Tuesday evening. I took my key because sometimes he has locked the door. I went down through the garden and opened the door into the lane. There is a similar door into the churchyard a little farther along.’

  ‘Yes – we have been over the ground.’

  ‘Then you will understand. I was just going into the lane, when I heard footsteps and saw someone coming from the direction of the village. It was a man, but I didn’t recognise him. It certainly wasn’t Mr Madoc. The man called out something, I don’t know what, and I went back into the garden and shut the door as your witness says. I thought the man was intoxicated, and I gave up the idea of going to the church. Afterwards when I got up to my room I found that I had dropped my key.’

  Lamb gazed at her with solid gravity.

  ‘Did you go back to look for it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was getting late – the man had startled me – I thought Miss Fell would be coming up to bed – I didn’t want to make explanations – I thought I would leave it till the morning.’

  Frank Abbott thought, ‘One reason would have been enough – and she’s given us five. Five explanations means that something wants a lot of explaining away. Women always overdo things. In fact, “methinks the lady doth protest too much.”’

  He wrote what she had said, and heard Lamb ask, ‘How do you know that it wasn’t Mr Madoc who came along the lane?’

  ‘It wasn’t anyone as tall as Mr Madoc.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? It was bright moonlight, wasn’t it?’

  ‘There are trees overhanging the wall. His face was in shadow.’

  ‘You are sure that you didn’t recognise him?’

  She sat easily now, her hands lying loosely in her lap. She said, ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Then how do you account for the fact that he addressed you as Medora? That is your name, isn’t it?’

  The hands took hold of one another. Frank watched them. They strained and tightened.

  ‘I told you he called out. I couldn’t hear what he said. He may have mistaken me for someone else. The cook next door is called Dora.’

  Bent over his notebook again, Frank Abbott permitted himself a slight sarcastic smile. Lamb said, ‘You deny having had any conversation with this man? The statement I spoke of says that words passed between you on the subject of Mr Harsch.’

  ‘There was no conversation. I went back into the garden.’

  ‘Yes – leaving your key. When did you get it back again, Miss Brown?’

  It appeared she was quite easy about that. She took it in her stride.

  ‘I went to look for it on Wednesday morning. I am afraid I didn’t look very carefully. We had had the news of Mr Harsch’s death, and I was terribly upset – I couldn’t think about anything else. I didn’t think about the key being important until someone – I think it was Miss Doncaster – said that of course the police would ask a lot of questions about the other church keys. That was on Thursday. So that evening I waited for the moon and went out into the lane to see if I could find my key.’

  ‘Why did you have to wait for the moon? Wouldn’t it have been a good deal simpler by daylight?’

  She threw him an odd protesting glance.

  ‘I hadn’t time – I couldn’t get away. I am Miss Fell’s companion. Major Albany was coming to stay – there was a great deal to do.’

  The same multiplicity of reasons.

  Lamb said, ‘I see. Go on, Miss Brown.’

  Protest changed to something like defiance.

  ‘There isn’t any more. I found the key. There was some broken glass there, as you said. I suppose I must have brought a bit in. I naturally didn’t imagine that anyone would be spying on me.’

  There was just a spark of temper there. Lamb took no notice of it.

  He said gravely, ‘Where did you find the key?’ and at once she was relaxed again. The answer came readily.

  ‘It was lying up against the wall under a dandelion plant.’

  ‘Which side of the door?’

  ‘On the right. It was close up against the wall.’

  Lamb got up, went to the window, and stood there looking out. He could see the wall, and the shape of the door breaking it. Without turning round he said, ‘The handle’s on the left. Those doors open inwards, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He came back to his seat. Miss Brown went on speaking.

  ‘The key must have fallen out of my hand when the man startled me. It was right up against the wall, quite close to the jamb. The moon happened to shine on it, or I might not have seen it.’

  ‘And did Mr Madoc come there to help you look for your key?’

  She drew back. The effect was that she flinched.

  ‘How could he help me? He wasn’t there. Nobody helped me.’

  ‘You deny that you met Mr Madoc in the lane on Thursday night?’

  ‘Of course I deny it. He wasn’t there. I went out, and found the key, and put it back in the bureau drawer.’

  Lamb took a frowning glance at the paper he had handled before, and then looked up and asked with an effect of suddenness, ‘Just h
ow well did you know Mr Harsch?’

  Miss Brown was not at all discomposed.

  ‘I knew him – we were on friendly terms. Miss Fell is fond of music – she often invited him.’

  ‘You were friendly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you more than friendly?’

  She lifted her eyebrows and said coldly, ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘And Mr Madoc?’

  There was a pause before she said, ‘I don’t know – what you mean.’

  Her tone was very nearly the same, but not quite. It was still cold, but Frank Abbott thought that it had changed. He thought she was afraid.

  Lamb said, ‘I am asking you how well you know Mr Madoc?’

  This time her answer came quickly in a tumble of words.

  ‘I know him – we all know each other here – it’s a small place. Is there anything wrong about that?’

  ‘Does he call you by your Christian name?’

  ‘Certainly not! Why should he?’

  ‘That is not for me to say, Miss Brown.’

  The Chief Inspector pushed back his chair and got up.

  SEVENTEEN

  WHEN MISS BROWN had left the room Frank Abbott met his inspector’s eye and smiled faintly.

  Lamb said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Oh, she’s lying – quite strenuously, I think, but not all the time. Some of it came easy, and some of it came hard. There’s an eel under the stone, as they say in France.’

  Lamb looked suspicious.

  ‘This isn’t France, and you’d do better to keep your mind on your job. Or if you want to play at proverbs, here’s a good old English one – “Fine words butter no parsnips”. We’ll be getting along to Prior’s End to see what Madoc’s got to say. Of course they may have fixed up their tale so that it will hang together, but there’s quite a chance they haven’t. What with the inquest going off as smooth as butter, and the verdict what it was, they wouldn’t risk meeting or telephoning till it had blown over a bit.’

  ‘How are you going to stop her telephoning now?’

  Lamb chuckled.

  ‘Mr Madoc’s line is going to be out of order, just in case anyone wants to ring him up before we get there. I doubt if she’d risk it though. It’s one of those party lines, they tell me, where anyone can take a turn at listening in. Anyhow, she won’t get the chance. But the girl at the Exchange will let us know if she has a try at it.’

  Frank Abbott slipped an elastic band round his notebook and put it in his pocket. His gloom had departed, his pale blue eyes were alert.

  ‘She’s a clever woman,’ he said. ‘It was pretty good, the way she pulled herself together. A bit of a knockout blow, our coming in with that evidence just as she must have been thinking they’d got away with it.’

  Lamb nodded.

  ‘She didn’t put up a bad story. Counsel for the defence could make quite a good thing of it, if it ever comes to that. By the way, just check up on that cook next door. Ask one of the maids here – they’ll know. I’ll have a word with Major Albany, and then we’ll be going.’

  He had his word, and was out by the gate, when Frank came after him.

  ‘The name is Doris, sir. What you might call a near miss. Bright of her to think of it though.’

  Lamb grunted.

  ‘Well, we’d better be getting off.’

  It was close on twelve o’clock when they came up the track to Prior’s End. Mrs Williams opened the door, elderly and neat, with her grey hair in a bun and her hands damp and steaming.

  ‘As sure as you’ve got your hands in the flour or the water, there’ll be someone come to the door,’ she told Janice a minute or two later. ‘Two strangers, and wanting Mr Madoc, so I told them he wasn’t to be disturbed, and I showed them in on Miss Madoc.’

  Miss Madoc had been very much surprised. She was engaged in the homely occupation of darning socks, and what with her size, her loose untidy dress – serge of the colour of boiled spinach, with dibs and dabs of embroidery here and there – and a green scarf that belonged to the dress, and a rust-coloured one she had put on in a fit of absent-mindedness, and her mending-basket, and a scatteration of socks, she pretty well filled the old-fashioned sofa. When she got up, first removing the glasses she wore for needlework, she managed to upset the basket, and was evidently in two minds whether to retrieve it or to greet her unexpected guests. On being informed that they were police officers from Scotland Yard she sat down again rather heavily and forgot everything else.

  ‘Oh, then it will be about poor Mr Harsch. But I am afraid you can’t see my brother – we never disturb him when he is working. He is doing very important work for the Government – at least everyone says it is very important. But I don’t think I shall like it at all if it comes to living on tabloids, but he says that we all eat a great deal too much, and—’

  Lamb interrupted her in his most solid voice.

  ‘I’m afraid that we shall have to see Mr Madoc. Will you kindly let him know that we are here.’

  Frank Abbott was thinking that never in his fondest dreams had he expected to meet anyone so exactly like the White Queen. The greyish sandy hair in a confused tangle on her neck, the crumpled pallor of her face, the vague protruberant eyes, the general air of not knowing quite where anything was or what to do about it – you had only to put her into a crinoline and clap a crown on her head, and she could wander through to the far side of the looking-glass and be more at home there than she had ever been or ever could be on this side of it.

  She was shaking her head at Lamb and saying, ‘Oh, dear – I don’t really see – I don’t know – he is so very easily put out – if there is anything that I can do—’

  Lamb said heartily, ‘Well, that’s an idea!’ He took a chair and sat down. ‘We shall have to see your brother presently, but I daresay there are things that you can tell us just as well as he can.’

  Besides the scarves, she wore a very large mosaic brooch depicting the Coliseum at Rome, and three strings of beads, a short one of blue and silver Venetian glass, and two, much longer, of coral and little round gold pierced beads respectively. Every time she moved the coral rubbed the glass and the gold beads clinked.

  Lamb felt in a pocket and produced a door-key.

  ‘Now, Miss Madoc, perhaps you can tell me whether you have seen a key like this before.’

  She inspected it diffidently, and then brightened.

  ‘Oh, yes – it is like the one Mr Harsch had – the key of the church. There was something about it at the inquest, but I really didn’t take it all in. I find that sort of thing very confusing, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Well, we’re trying to get it all quite clear. I hope you can help us. When did you last see any key like this one?’

  Miss Madoc appeared to be trying to think. When she spoke she had just the right voice for the White Queen, Abbott thought – high and rather bleating.

  ‘Well, let me see – Mr Harsch kept his key lying on his dressing-table – but it wasn’t there on Tuesday night when I turned down the bed. Mrs Williams wasn’t quite the thing, and I did it for her, but of course he never slept in it, poor man – only I couldn’t have known, could I? But then I seem to have seen it later than that – at least I didn’t see it then – but if I had it would have been later, if you know what I mean.’

  Lamb remained imperturbable.

  ‘You are speaking about the key?’

  Miss Madoc twitched a scarf. All the chains jangled.

  ‘Was I? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten. It was so very sad about Mr Harsch.’

  ‘Yes. You were telling us about turning down his bed on Tuesday night. But it was later on that you was the key, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes – yes – of course – I remember. I couldn’t have seen it then, could I, because he had taken it to let himself into the church. But next day when I was brushing my brother’s clothes the key fell out of his pocket on to the floor.’ She paused, bewildered. ‘But of course it couldn’t have be
en Mr Harsch’s key – could it? Do you know, I never thought about that.’

  Lamb was not at all anxious that she should think about it now. He interposed with a direct question.

  ‘These clothes that you were brushing – were they the ones that Mr Madoc was wearing the night before?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘On the Tuesday evening?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘And the key that fell out was like this?’ He held out Bush’s key on the palm of his hand.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Miss Madoc brightly.

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  She looked shocked.

  ‘Oh, I put it back. My brother is most particular about nobody touching his things.’

  Lamb got up.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Madoc. And now we will see Mr Madoc.’

  She rose in alarm, shedding socks.

  ‘Oh, but I’m afraid you can’t – he’s working – I really couldn’t – I mean, we never interrupt him when he’s working.’

  The Chief Inspector had a formidable manner when he chose. He evoked it now with so much success that Miss Madoc found herself meekly treading the forbidden path to the laboratory door, knocking upon it and impelled across the threshold with a few faltering words of introduction, after which she departed in a hurry and was thankful for the sound of the closing door.

  Evan Madoc, straightening up with a test-tube in his hand, stared haughtily at the intruders. On being informed of their identity he abated nothing of the haughtiness, but enquired what they wanted in very much the same tone which he would have used to Mrs Williams or his sister. Politeness to strangers or deference to the law had no part in it. He was at work – he had been interrupted. Would they kindly state their business and get out. If not in words, at any rate in tone and manner, nothing could have been plainer.

  ‘Riding high,’ was Frank Abbott’s mental comment, ‘Well, it’s one way of playing a bad hand.’

  Old Lamb was being quite polite, quite businesslike.

  ‘We have been asked to make some enquiries in connection with the death of Mr Michael Harsch. I believe you can help us, Mr Madoc.’

  The erratic black eyebrows rose. The eyes beneath them sharpened, hardened. An icy voice said, ‘I should think it most improbable. What do you want?’