Lamb let him have it.
‘I want to know what you were doing in the Church Cut at a time not very long before a quarter to ten, when the shot which killed Mr Harsch was fired.’
The black slanting line of the brows came down again, descending until they made an angry line above the frowning eyes. The hand which held the test-tube closed hard and then relaxed. The glass dropped broken to the floor. Evan Madoc did not even look at it. He said, ‘Who says that I was there?’
Lamb pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it without hurry.
‘You were seen and heard, Mr Madoc. I have a statement here which says, “Mr Madoc came along the Cut from the direction of the church. I could see him quite plainly in the moonlight. Miss Brown was just outside the garden door of the Rectory. Mr Madoc said, ‘Where are you going, Medora?’ and she said, ‘It hasn’t got anything to do with you.’” Have you any comment to make on that statement? The witness is prepared to swear to it, and to the conversation which followed. He says, in effect, that you forbade Miss Brown to go to the church, and that you took from her the key which she had in her hand and went off with it. I may say that Miss Brown admits to having gone into the lane.’
Evan Madoc laughed. It was a very angry sound. His face was haggard and his eyes burned.
‘Oh, she says she went into the lane? What else does she say?’
‘I’m not here to tell you about other people’s statements – I’m here to ask you what you have to say. There is evidence to show that you were in possession of one of the church keys at the time that Mr Harsch was shot. There is evidence that you quarrelled with Miss Brown about him. Have you anything to say on these two points?’
Madoc drew himself up.
‘If you have all this evidence, what more do you want?’
‘Do you admit that you were in the Church Cut at somewhere around about half-past nine on Tuesday evening?’
‘Why shouldn’t I admit it?’
‘Would you care to make a statement as to what took place there?’
He laughed again.
‘So that you can check it up with your witness and try and catch me in a lie! That’s what you would like to do, isn’t it? But that’s just what you won’t do, because I don’t tell lies – I speak the truth. That’s one thing you don’t reckon on in someone you suspect, is it – that he may tell the truth. That knocks the bottom out of your trap – doesn’t it? Write down what I say and you can have your statement, and every word of it will be true!’
Lamb looked round over his shoulder and nodded. The notebook came out of Frank Abbott’s pocket. He found himself in a chair and wrote upon his knee.
Madoc began to walk up and down, throwing off short, furious sentences, his hands plunged deep in his pockets, every jerky stride, every abrupt turn, full of angry energy.
‘Tuesday evening. I didn’t look at the time. I went out and walked. When I came to the Church Cut I saw Miss Brown. I thought she was going to the church. I thought she was making a fool of herself. I could see she had got something in her hand. Harsch was playing in the church. I told her she could listen to him from where she was. I told her to hand over the key. When she wouldn’t, I twisted her arm. The key fell down. I picked it up and went away. That’s all – make anything you like of it! And get out of here! I’m working!’
No one was in a hurry but Mr Madoc. Sergeant Abbott wrote. Lamb presented his imperturbable front (Impersonation of a Prize Ox at Grass, as his irreverent subordinate had it).
‘Just a moment, Mr Madoc. This business is important for you as well as for us. It can’t be rushed over. I’d like you to take time to think before you speak, and it is my duty to warn you that what you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.’
The words pulled Evan Madoc up short. He checked in the middle of a stride, flung round, and said, ‘Good God! What are you suggesting?’
‘It is not my place to suggest. I am warning you. I’ve got my duty to do, and it would be better for you as well as for me if you would sit down quietly and think before you say anything. All right, it’s just as you like – but I’ve warned you. I’m asking you whether you used the key you took from Miss Brown. I’m asking you whether you went to the church and saw Mr Harsch on Tuesday evening.’
Madoc had already made a violent gesture of dissent. He now repeated it, shaking his head with an energy which shook his whole body too. After which he stood, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched forward, glowering, a lock of black hair tossed up like a ruffled feather accentuating the upward twist of the eyebrow.
‘You deny that you went to the church?’
Madoc said with the extreme of bitterness, ‘If I say no, you’ll be sure I lie. If I say yes, you will ask me whether I shot Michael Harsch, and if I say yes to that, you will believe me with greediness. But if I tell you that I loved him like a brother, and that I would give my right hand to have him back, you will again be very sure that I am lying. Because it is not in you to believe good – you can only believe evil.’
Lamb cleared his throat.
‘I should like to ask you to clarify those remarks, Mr Madoc. We don’t want any confusion over this. I am not clear whether you are stating that you did go to the church, or that you did not.’
Madoc reduced the volume of his voice, but not the venom.
‘I did not go to the church. I did not shoot Michael Harsch. Is that quite clear?’
‘Oh, yes, quite. You went home, and you took the key with you. When did you return it to Miss Brown?’
Madoc gave a disagreeable laugh.
‘Hasn’t she told you that? I’m surprised! I returned it to her on Thursday night. She seemed to want it back, so I brought it down and handed it over.’
‘Thank you, Mr Madoc. Have you any objection to signing the statements you have just made?’
‘Not in the least. Why should I? I have nothing to hide.’
There was a pause. Frank Abbott wrote, and afterwards read aloud what he had written. Unlike the majority of statements recorded by the police, the words were recognisably Madoc’s own. He listened to them with that black frown dominating his face, snatched the paper, and picking up a pen from his writing-table, drove it deep into the inkpot and scrawled a thick, smudged ‘Evan Madoc’ across the page.
EIGHTEEN
AT FOUR O’CLOCK that afternoon Janice came hurrying down the track from Prior’s End. She was not conscious of hurrying. She was not really conscious of her body at all, only of immeasurable disaster and the need she had to find Garth. She was bare-headed, and her white dress was too thin for the day, which had turned suddenly bleak, as days are apt to do in an English September.
She came into the village street, found it alive with children, and remembered with a kind of shock that it was Saturday afternoon. When something violent and abnormal has jolted your world out of focus, it is difficult to realise that life is going on quite normally for other people.
As she crossed the road she almost ran into Mrs Mottram, who immediately clutched her and said, ‘Darling, how dreadful! Don’t tell me it’s true. The baker said so, but I can’t believe it? Have they really arrested Mr Madoc?’
‘Yes, it’s true.’
Mrs Mottram’s blue eyes rolled.
‘Darling, how devastating! Of course you mustn’t stay there a single moment. You must come to me. I’m afraid I’ve only got a most uncomfortable camp bed and no carpet on the floor, because I’ve never really furnished the room, but you must come down at once. I’ll just go straight back and put the sheets to air.’
‘It’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t leave Miss Madoc.’
‘Darling, you must! You can’t possibly stay there! Do you know I always did think there was something peculiar about Mr Madoc. You mustn’t dream of staying.’
Janice shook her head.
‘I can’t leave her, Ida. You couldn’t yourself, so it’s no use asking me. And for goodness sake don’t go about saying
Mr Madoc was peculiar, because he didn’t do it.’
Mrs Mottram had quite a pretty mouth except when it fell open. It fell open now, all on one side.
‘Don’t you think so?’
Janice stamped her foot.
‘I know he didn’t! Why should he? Mr Harsch was the one person in this world he never quarrelled with. He thought a lot of him – he really cared for him. When you live in the house with people you can’t make a mistake about that sort of thing.’
Ida Mottram had the happy faculty of always believing what she was told. It made her very popular with men. She gazed confidingly at Janice and said, ‘I suppose you do. But, my dear, how devastating if he’s innocent – and how dreadful for Miss Madoc! Are you sure he didn’t do it?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘Darling, I do hope you’re right, because it really wouldn’t be at all nice to feel you’d been living with a murderer. But if he didn’t do it, who did? And how are you going to find out? Because of course the police wouldn’t have arrested him unless they were quite, quite sure he’d done it, and it would be too, too dreadful if they were to hang him when he was innocent. I remember Billy saying that innocent people did get hanged – or as good as. Billy Blake – he was a great friend of Robin’s and of mine too, and he was a barrister before he went into the RAF, so of course he knows. Did you meet him when he was down the other day – because I want you to so much. But he’ll be coming again quite soon, and then you simply must. Of course he always says he only wants to see me, but I know you’ll adore him ... Oh, where was I? I know – I was thinking what we could do to prevent Mr Madoc being hanged. You’re quite, quite sure that he didn’t do it? Because of course I quite loved Mr Harsch. He had that sad, noble kind of look like someone in a film – and of course when they look like that you know they’re going to die, so I always have a hanky ready—’ She broke off suddenly and clutched at Janice with the other hand. A dreamy skyward gaze was replaced by one of considerable animation. ‘Darling, I know – Miss Silver!’
Janice said, ‘You’re pinching me!’ And then, ‘Who is Miss Silver?’
‘Darling! She’s too marvellous! I can’t tell you what she did for me. I daresay you’ll think it was only a tiny little thing, but Robin’s mother is so suspicious. She never liked his marrying me, you know, and she would never have believed that I hadn’t sold it. But I can’t tell you about it, because I simply swore to Robin that I would never tell anyone – in case of his mother getting to know, you know. Anyhow Miss Silver put it all right in the most marvellous way. And you may say it was only a little thing – only of course not for me – but how I heard about Miss Silver was from a girl who was in a perfectly dreadful murder case, and Miss Silver put it all right and found out who had really done it. So don’t you see, you must have her down at once and get poor Mr Madoc out of prison. And then you’ll be able to come and stay with me, because Miss Madoc will be quite all right as soon as he gets home. I’m so glad I thought about it, and I shall love to see her again. She’s just like a governess, you know, only rather an angel. Darling, I really must rush. I’m going to tea with Mr Everton, and I shall get into dreadful trouble if I’m late. You won’t forget, will you – Miss Maud Silver, 15 Montague Mansions ... Oh, yes, London, of course, but I never can remember whether it’s S.E. or S.W. But they’ll look it up for you at the post office – they always do for me.’
NINETEEN
JANICE HAD RUNG the bell, when it came over her that it was no good thinking, ‘I must go to Garth – I must see Garth’, because of course she would simply have to ask for Miss Sophy. And then the door began to move, and there was Garth opening it. She forgot all about everything except how frightfully glad she was to see him, and almost before he had finished saying, ‘I saw you out of the window,’ she had her hand on his arm with a quick, ‘Oh, Garth, they’ve arrested him!’
He took her into the study and shut the door.
‘Aunt Sophy has gone to see Miss Mary Anne, but Miss Brown is somewhere about. I don’t think we want her in on this.’
She sat down, looked at him forlornly, and said, ‘Oh, Garth, he didn’t do it – I know he didn’t – but they’ve arrested him.’
He sat on the edge of the writing-table, quite near, and leaned towards her.
‘I don’t see what else they could do. He had Miss Brown’s key.’
‘Oh, Garth!’
‘I’m afraid he did. Look here, this is just for you. There’s been something going on between them. The evacuee boy next door saw them meet in the Cut. Madoc made a scene about her going to the church to see Harsch, and he took her key and went away with it not more than a quarter of an hour before Aunt Sophy heard the shot. That’s why it wasn’t in the drawer on Thursday evening. And that’s what she was doing in the middle of Thursday night – meeting him again and getting the key back. I don’t see what else they could do except arrest him.’
‘But he didn’t do it,’ said Janice, her eyes wide with horror.
‘Didn’t he?’
‘No.’
Garth gave a rather curious laugh.
‘Stubborn little thing – aren’t you? You always were. Now perhaps you’ll tell me why you’ve got this touching belief in Madoc.’
She flushed brightly and said what she had said to Ida Mottram.
‘I’ve lived in the house with them. He loved Mr Harsch.’
‘He loved Medora, and he was jealous of Harsch. I think he shot him. Having that key would make it so awfully easy.’
‘Not if he hadn’t planned it beforehand. Don’t you see, if it was murder it must have been planned beforehand. You don’t carry pistols about with you all ready and loaded. And that’s what I can’t believe about Mr Madoc – he’s got a simply frightful temper, and he goes off like a bomb and says the most outrageous things, but he wouldn’t plot and plan, and load a pistol, and go out to find someone he was fond of and murder him. Garth, you know perfectly well there are things a person could do, and things he couldn’t. This is one of the couldn’ts.’
He smiled at her suddenly.
‘All right, counsel for the defence, next time I do a crime I’ll brief you.’
Her colour deepened.
‘You’re laughing at me! I can imagine him throwing a chair or a flower-pot at someone – he did fling a vegetable dish full of burnt porridge out of the window not very long ago – but I just can’t see him creeping up behind someone with a pistol.’
Garth’s brows drew together, whilst his lips still smiled.
‘Well, I don’t know that the porridge is an awfully sound line of defence. I think I should cut it out if I were you.’
And with that the door was pushed open and Miss Brown stood there looking in. Garth swung round, leaning on his hand. She did not speak for a moment, but stood there, those dark eyes of hers staring from a colourless face. Then she came in and shut the door behind her.
Garth and Janice got up. Neither of them could think of anything to say. It was Miss Brown who spoke.
‘What has happened? Tell me!’
‘They have arrested Mr Madoc.’
Miss Brown said, ‘Oh!’ It was really more of a gasp than a word. She took hold of the writing-chair and stood there gripping it. ‘They can’t!’
Garth said, ‘They have.’
She turned on him with a surprising energy.
‘They can’t prove it – they can’t prove anything! I didn’t tell them anything – only that I went into the Cut! They’ll never make me tell them anything more than that! He wasn’t there – I tell you he wasn’t there!’
Garth said, ‘He was seen.’
She came back at him almost with fury.
‘Who saw him? They wouldn’t tell me! Whoever it was is lying! I tell you he wasn’t there! It was a man I didn’t know. I dropped my key! It wasn’t Evan! They can’t make me say it was!’
Janice looked frightened and sorry. She said in a little voice, ‘It isn’t any good – he tol
d them he was there.’
‘Oh, no!’ The chair shook under her shaking hands.
Janice went on.
‘He told them he took your key. It’s no good saying he didn’t. I know he didn’t shoot Mr Harsch, but they think he did. Because he had the key.’
Miss Brown let go of the chair and walked round the table, feeling her way by the edge of it as if she were blind. When she was close to Janice she said in a voice which had lost all its strength, ‘How do you know he didn’t do it?’
TWENTY
‘IT IS ALL very extraordinary,’ said Miss Sophy.
She sat on the drawing-room sofa, billowing, with Garth on one side of her and Janice on the other. She had been holding a hand of each. She now withdrew what may be called Garth’s hand and dabbed her eyes with a fine linen handkerchief which had a large S embroidered on the corner in a perfect bower of forget-me-nots, tulips, and shamrocks, all exactly the same size. After which she patted Janice affectionately and folded both hands in her lap, keeping the handkerchief ready for the next dab.
‘Poor dear Medora! And she won’t tell me anything – not anything at all. She doesn’t even cry. You know, it really does you a great deal of good to cry when you are feeling unhappy.’ She turned from one to the other as she spoke, her fat white curls ably supporting the not inconsiderable weight of her best hat, which was trimmed with four yards of black velvet ribbon of pre-war quality, three massive ostrich plumes, and a bunch of violets. Her eyes were very round, very blue, very bewildered. ‘I said to her, “Medora, if you can’t tell me what it is all about, do for goodness, gracious sake have a comfortable cry”, and I brought her a clean folded pocket handkerchief. But she just lay there and looked at me. So I said, “Well, Medora, I can’t force your confidence, and I won’t try, but if you don’t take your tea, I can send for Dr Edwards, and I will”. And I came away.’
‘I expect she took it,’ said Janice.
The Key (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 8) Page 11
