The Clock Strikes Twelve

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Why were you going away?”

  He said in a tone of despair,

  “I can’t go now. I’ve lost my chance. I shall have to stay.”

  The room was warm, but Lydia’s hands were cold. After a moment she said,

  “What are you going to do, Mark-about what happened at dinner last night? What sort of questions have been asked?”

  “Nothing yet. Vyner hasn’t seen anyone except Aunt Grace. She didn’t mean to say anything. I don’t know how hard he pressed her. It was her idea that we should all hold our tongues. Personally I don’t think it’s practicable. It would have been all right if it had really been an accident-they’d have asked Aunt Grace and old Horton about his health, and that would have been the end of it. But if Frith says it’s murder, they’ll sift through everything that happened in the house last night. Ten of us heard that speech of his. One of them is Irene. Do you suppose for a moment that it’s possible to keep it dark? Something is bound to come out. And when things start coming out you don’t know where they’re going to stop.”

  At any rate he was talking now. That dreadful brooding silence had been broken. She said,

  “Come back to the others and talk it over. What does Elliot say?”

  “I don’t know-I wasn’t attending very much-I think he thought we should hold our tongues. But that was before Albert came in and told us what Frith was saying.”

  “Albert?”

  “Yes, he came in and told us. Right on the top of that Vyner came along to see Aunt Grace, and we all cleared out. We don’t know what she’s said to him. We don’t know what he’s asked her.”

  The colour came suddenly into Lydia’s face and burned there. He had turned from the window. She caught his arm and shook it.

  “Why are we talking like this? Why should we tangle ourselves up with a lot of lies? We haven’t got anything to hide.”

  “Haven’t we?” His tone was sombre.

  “Why don’t we tell the truth?”

  She was looking up into his face. His eyes avoided her. He said,

  “Do you know what it is?” Then, almost violently, “Have you forgotten what he said in that damned speech of his? He accused one of us of a crime. That’s what it amounted to, didn’t it-he accused one of us-one of the ten people who’d been dining with him. And he said he’d wait in his study for one of us to come and confess. Well, he waited, and he was murdered. Do you think Vyner’s going to look outside of those ten people for the murderer?”

  She said, “I suppose not.” And then, “I don’t think it’s going to help us to tell lies about it.”

  He said with great bitterness,

  “It’s a million to one we don’t get away with it if we do. Which gets us back to ‘Honesty is the best policy’ and all the other copybook maxims. I’ve had all I can swallow. Let’s go back and preach to the others.”

  Chapter 18

  Irene passed nervously into the study, threw a shrinking glance about her, and sat down as far from the writing-table as possible. To the Superintendent’s invitation to come a little nearer she responded with obvious reluctance. So very, very odd to see him sitting there in Mr. Paradine’s place. No one else had ever sat there or used the table. She had the feeling that he might walk in suddenly and surprise them, and be very, very angry. The thought of it made her feel as if cold water was running down her back, like the drip from an umbrella. She did hope this statement business wasn’t going to take long.

  The Superintendent was looking at her quite kindly and politely. He said, like an echo of what she was thinking,

  “I won’t keep you long, Mrs. Ambrose. I just want you to tell me what happened last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yes. There was a New Year’s Eve party here, wasn’t there? You, and your husband, and Miss Ambrose, and Miss Pennington came to it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Dinner was at eight, I think, or just a little later. You were in the dining-room till about nine. At half past nine you and your party went home. Now why was that?”

  Irene brightened.

  “Oh, yes-my little girl wasn’t well-at least I was afraid she might be sickening for something, but she’s quite all right today. You see, she had a spot on her chest, and Dr. Horton said it was nothing, but you never can tell with spots, and though she didn’t have a temperature or anything, or of course I shouldn’t have dreamed of leaving her, I was naturally anxious to get back. I didn’t want to come out at all, but my husband really insisted. And of course Mr. Paradine wouldn’t have liked it if any of us had stayed away.”

  Superintendent Vyner said, “Quite so.” And then, “So it was on your little girl’s account that you went home so early. It wasn’t on account of anything that happened at dinner?”

  Irene’s expression changed. The interest with which she had been talking about little Rena faded out. She appeared disconcerted. She put up her hand and fumbled inefficiently with a straggling lock of hair.

  The Superintendent repeated his question.

  “Something did happen at dinner, didn’t it? You wanted to get home to your little girl. But your husband wouldn’t have broken up the party just for that. There was something more, wasn’t there?”

  Irene never found it easy to switch her mind from one topic to another. She seized upon what seemed to her to be a connecting link.

  “Oh, but he didn’t mind a bit,” she said. “It was really his own idea-I wouldn’t have liked to go as early as that. It was Frank who suggested it-it really was.”

  It was no use, the piece of hair wouldn’t tuck in. She left it straying, put her hands in her lap, and gazed earnestly at the Superintendent. She wasn’t nervous now. He seemed a very nice man. She wondered how old he was. Perhaps he had grandchildren like Jimmy and Rena. If she got a chance she would ask him. He had rather nice blue eyes. She did hope Rena’s eyes were going to be blue-

  And then he was saying,

  “Mr. Ambrose wanted to go home because of what happened at dinner?”

  Her mouth fell open. Frank wouldn’t want her to say yes. She said in a confused voice,

  “Oh-I don’t know-”

  “Well, Mrs. Ambrose, it couldn’t have been pleasant for any of you. I expect Mr. Ambrose thought it would be better to break the party up.”

  “Oh, I don’t know-”

  He said briskly,

  “Mr. Paradine came straight here from the dining-room and didn’t appear again. He didn’t come into the drawing-room, did he?”

  “No-he didn’t-”

  “It must have been very trying for you.”

  “Oh, it was!”

  If a shade of triumph entered his thought, his manner gave no sign of it. He leaned a little towards Irene across the table and said,

  “Now, Mrs. Ambrose-I wonder whether you would tell me just how it all struck you. Different people get different impressions of the same thing. I would very much like to have your version of what happened in your own words, if you don’t mind.”

  Irene went through the process which she called thinking. A number of unco-ordinated and confused impressions strayed to and fro in her mind. Frank must have told the Superintendent about last night- somebody must have told him-if it wasn’t Frank, Frank would be angry… The straying thoughts were not really as formulated as this. She did nothing to formulate them. She let them stray.

  She said in a hesitating manner,

  “Oh, I don’t know that I can-”

  “Will you try, Mrs. Ambrose? Just begin at the beginning. What started it?”

  “Well, I don’t know-it just seemed to happen. He stood up, and we thought he was going to give us a toast-at least I did, I don’t know about the others-but it wasn’t that at all.”

  “I see. Now I wonder how much you remember of what followed. Just give it to me in your own words.”

  She said, “Oh, I don’t know-”

  “You mean you don’t remember?”

  “Oh-I remember-”
/>
  “Then just see if you can help me. How did he begin?”

  Irene looked doubtful.

  “I can’t remember it all. He said we shouldn’t be bored-and then he said it wouldn’t be pleasant- and then he said things about our all being related, or connected by marriage, and families had to hold together, and all that sort of thing-”

  “And after that?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I ought to say-I don’t think-”

  He said quietly, “I am afraid I must ask you to go on. Just tell me what you can remember.”

  “Well, he used a lot of long words-I can’t remember them. And I don’t know-”

  “Please, Mrs. Ambrose-just what you remember.”

  Sitting there in her fur coat, Irene shivered. She began to feel sure that Frank was going to be angry. She didn’t see what she could do about it. If you didn’t answer the police they would think you had something to hide. But she didn’t like having to answer, because now when the actual words came crowding back they weren’t the sort of words you want to repeat to the police or to anyone else. She faltered as she repeated them.

  “He said-someone-had been-disloyal. He said someone had-betrayed-the family interests. He said it was-one of us-”

  The blood came up behind Vyner’s tan. His thoughts shouted, “By gum, he did-by gum!” He looked down at the blotting-pad and saw a little leather-covered diary lying there-just one of those pocket diaries, bright blue, with 1943 stamped upon the cover in gold. He looked at it because he wanted to keep his eyes from Mrs. Ambrose. Mustn’t startle her-mustn’t startle her… He managed his voice and said,

  “Did he say who this person was?”

  “Oh, no, he didn’t.”

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “Oh, yes-he said so.”

  “He said someone had betrayed the family interests, and that he knew who the person was?”

  “Yes, that’s what he said.”

  He was looking at her again now.

  “You are doing very well, Mrs. Ambrose. What else did he say?”

  Irene had now arrived at feeling some pleasurable excitement. She was doing well-she was being praised-it wasn’t as difficult as she had thought it was going to be. She said in quite a complacent voice,

  “It was dreadful. I’m sure I didn’t know where to look. And I was sitting next to him. It really was dreadful. We all thought he must have gone out of his mind.”

  “Did he seem to be excited?”

  “Oh, no. That’s what made it so dreadful-he was absolutely calm. I don’t know how he could be when you think of the things he was saying, but he was.”

  “Will you go on telling me what he said.”

  “Well, all that sort of thing. And then he said he would wait in the study till twelve o’clock, and if anyone had anything to-to confess, he would be there, and-well, I can’t remember exactly, but-I think he meant that he wouldn’t be too hard on anyone if they confessed. I think that’s what he meant, but he did say something about punishment too.”

  “Can you remember what he said?”

  Irene looked vague.

  “No-I don’t think I can. It was something about the person being punished.”

  “I see. It must have been quite a relief when the party broke up.”

  “Oh, it was!”

  “You didn’t see Mr. Paradine again?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “None of your party saw him to say goodnight?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “You all went home together?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You must have got home at about a quarter to ten. As far as you know, did any of the party go out again?”

  The colour came into her face. Her eyes opened widely. She said, “Oh!”

  Vyner said in his own mind, “By gum-I’ve got something!” He looked at her hard and said,

  “Which of you went out?”

  She was flustered, but not unduly so.

  “Well, it was because of Rena-my little girl you know-I couldn’t wake her.”

  He experienced a slight feeling of stupefaction.

  “Why did you want to wake her?”

  “Well, I didn’t, you know-not really. I mean I was very pleased at first when I got home to find she was sleeping so soundly, and then-well, I was talking to my sister for some time, and when I got back and began to go to bed I thought perhaps she was sleeping too soundly.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I got frightened. My sister doesn’t know anything about children. I did try to get my husband to come and look at her, but he only said ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ He thinks I’m fussy. But when I picked her up and her head just fell over and she went on sleeping, I got dreadfully frightened, and I tried to ring up Dr. Horton, but the telephone was out of order-I’d forgotten about that. So when I couldn’t get on I thought I’d go and fetch him-it’s not any distance really-so I did.”

  “You went and fetched Dr. Horton?”

  She was looking vague again.

  “Well, I didn’t really, because when I got there he was in his car just starting out somewhere. I ran and called after him, but he didn’t hear me.”

  “So you came home again?”

  “Well, I didn’t-not at once. I thought perhaps he wouldn’t be long. I walked up and down a bit. I didn’t like to ring the bell, because Mrs. Horton always tells you how she brought up eight children and never fussed over any of them.”

  Vyner’s face was as expressionless as he could make it.

  “How long did you wait, Mrs. Ambrose?”

  “About half an hour. And then I got frightened again, wondering what was happening to Rena, so I went home. I ran all the way, but she was quite all right.”

  “And was she still asleep?”

  “Oh, yes. My husband was so angry.”

  “He had missed you?”

  “Oh, yes. He was out looking for me when I got back. Then he came in and was frightfully angry.”

  “What time did he get in?”

  “I don’t know-it must have been getting late-I know I was longing to get to bed.”

  “Did your husband say where he had been?”

  “He said he had been looking for me.”

  “He didn’t say where?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “He just said he had been looking for you?”

  Irene coloured brightly.

  “He was most unkind about it,” she said.

  Chapter 19

  Superintendent Vyner sat in a solid armchair and faced the Chief Constable across a comfortable hearth. The Chief Constable was Colonel Bostock, a wiry little man with a brown wrinkled face, bright twinkling eyes, and a cheerful expression. He was sixty years old, and had the air of having enjoyed every minute of them. Since he was a widower, it is to be supposed that this was not quite the case, but Mrs. Bostock had been dead for so many years that any sad memories must long ago have been obliterated. His three daughters, at present serving their country, were healthy and pleasant young women who had never given him a moment’s anxiety. One of them was overseas, but the other two had seven days’ leave and were spending it at home. Vyner had just used the word murder. Colonel Bostock was regarding him with the cocked head and bright attention of a terrier to whom someone has just said “Rats!”

  “You don’t say so!”

  “It’s not me, sir-it’s Dr. Frith. And Dr. Horton couldn’t contradict him, though he’d have been glad enough if he could. Of course if you put it to me, I’d say that Dr. Frith was in the right of it. It was murder all right. He was pushed, and I’d say he was pushed by someone who knew that he’d got the habit of standing by that parapet and having a look at the view. The butler says he did it every night as regular as clockwork before he went to bed.”

  “That’s all very well, but who was to know what time he’d go to bed? Or did that go by clockwork too?”

  “Oh, no, sir. But last night, you see, all those ten people who had dinner with
him, well they’d heard him say he’d be sitting up in his study till twelve o’clock. He’d brought a serious accusation against one of them and he was going to wait in the study for that one to come and confess. Well, there’s the motive. We don’t know just how serious it all was. The offence may have been a criminal one for all we know. There’s no doubt the family were pretty hard hit, and there’s no doubt they meant to keep their mouths shut. You’ve got Miss Paradine’s statement there- well, she denies the whole thing. She wouldn’t have done that if she hadn’t thought the others would back her up. What they hadn’t reckoned with was my getting hold of Mrs. Ambrose before they’d the chance of telling her what to say.”

  Colonel Bostock gave a short, dry sniff.

  “Mrs. Ambrose? Let’s see-she’s Irene. Lydia ’s the red-haired one. Old Pennington’s daughters. The mother’s dead too. Very pretty woman Mrs. Pennington. Danced like an angel. Neither of the girls a patch on her for looks. The red hair comes from the Pennington side. Nice chap old Pennington, and a damned good shot. Red as a scraped carrot. The girls went to school with mine. Wait a minute-there was something about one of them… Not Lydia -no. Shouldn’t have been so surprised if it had been the red-headed one. Never trust a red-headed woman. No, it was the other one, Irene-girl who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

  Vyner considered it time to recall his Chief Constable from these reminiscences. He did so with respect, but firmly.

  “Well, sir, you see, once I had got that statement from Mrs. Ambrose it wasn’t any good the others holding out. I had the sister in next, Miss Lydia Pennington-a very intelligent young lady, if I may say so-and she saw at once that the game was up. I read her what Mrs. Ambrose had said, and she agreed that it was correct so far as it went. Only she tried very hard to get it across that Mr. Paradine mightn’t have meant very much after all-said she was very fond of him and all that, but there was no denying he was very strict and old-fashioned, and that he expected everyone in the family to do just what they were told.”

  “Well, that’s true enough. Everyone knows that. Very able man-very able indeed. Bit of an autocrat. Bit of a tyrant, I shouldn’t wonder.”